


all on the edge

by ShippingEverything



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: All the sisters are here but its an amethar fic mostly, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Gen, M/M, Mind Manipulation, hostile takeovers, workplace drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 09:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28469241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippingEverything/pseuds/ShippingEverything
Summary: Amethar does not put his hands onto the press podium. He makes sure to keep his hands under it, clenched and out of sight, because he knows himself and knows that breaking three inches of solid wood in half because he’s too frustrated to think straight wouldn’t be good for anyone. He closes his eyes and imagines the clearness of the sky above the cloud layer as he tries to ignore the way that the Fairy, within the stone that rests above his heart, whispers,We are above all of them, they should not make you nervous.Or: Then, Amethar Rocks is barely 19 and grappling with the enormity of power he’s suddenly gained. Now, Amethar is closer to forty than he’d like to admit and suddenly thrust into the RocksCorp spotlight when his oldest sister falls ill, stuck balancing his responsibilities against his wants, all while trying to keep away from other expanding businesses and figure out what's going on with his boyfriend. A modern superhero au/office drama with flashback interludes
Relationships: Calroy Cruller/Amethar Rocks
Comments: 16
Kudos: 20
Collections: Dimension 20 Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS IS DONE? i certainly can't! welcome to my d20 superhero au except that theres so little superheroing and so much office politics. i've worked really hard on this, and had it get greatly out of hand, but i really really hope you like it! thanks to my dear friend and WONDERFUL artist, eli ANDROMELITE, to the calrot gc for watching me write and for answering my questions, to all of the authors in bb-cord who cheered me on and said i could do it. we made it!!!!
> 
> title from whats up danger by black caviar and blackway. 
> 
> warnings will be doled out by chapter but IN GENERAL: warnings for minor depiction of illness, manipulation, mind control, and description of drowning. i promise it's not all as grim as it seems! 
> 
> anyway, PLEASE check out [eli's amazing companion art and once again i hope you enjoy so much. have fun reading!](https://twitter.com/ANDROMELITE/status/1351728652166291458?s=19)

_Now:_

“Mr. Rocks, could you elaborate on your sister’s condition-”

“No comment.”

“Mr. Rocks, it’s been said that Doctor Rocks-”

“No comment.”

“Mr. Rocks, you were seen last week with-”

“ _No comment_.” Amethar does not put his hands onto the press podium. He makes sure to keep his hands under it, clenched and out of sight, because he knows himself and knows that breaking three inches of solid wood in half because he’s too frustrated to think straight wouldn’t be good for anyone. He closes his eyes and imagines the clearness of the sky above the cloud layer as he tries to ignore the way that the Fairy, within the stone that rests above his heart, whispers, _**We are above all of them, they should not make you nervous**_. He allows himself two deep breaths. When he opens his eyes, fifteen vulturous reporters are still staring at him.

“If you ask me about my sisters or my personal life, I’m gonna say no comment. Are we all clear on that?” He gets no response, not even a nod, to his entreating request. He resists the urge to put his head in his hands, to tell Rococoa that he can’t do this, to beat the podium into wood pulp. “Are there any questions about the _company_? I’ll answer those happily.”

One, only one, hand goes up and Amethar nods tiredly to the reporter. “Mr. Rocks, you’ve never shown an interest in RocksCorp leadership before now, what would you say to reassure shareholders and customers that all is well with you at the wheel?”

Amethar feels his mouth twitch, a flinch that he hopes will go unnoticed. “I know I’ve had other priorities. Growing up, the company was my parents’ and then it was Rococoa’s, and I thought leaving it to her would be enough. Obviously, circumstances have changed -- and _no_ , I’m not going to tell you any more about that, it’s a personal affair -- but I know that I need to be better. I’m going to, alright? I have my sisters and the company supporting me, which helps a lot, but _I’m_ going to step it up too. I care about RocksCorp, I care about our customers, and I’m going to do my best for them.”

The reporter looks a little stunned by the end of it, a boon as Amethar’s embarrassment starts to set in; he’s never been as eloquent or as clever as his sisters and that’s never more clear than when the _press_ tries to talk to him. Amethar pushes back his chair, ignoring the heat rising in his face best that he can, and clears his throat gruffly.

“Any further questions? No? Good. RocksCorp thanks you for your attendance.” Amethar stands and walks off stage before anyone can ask him anything else, trying not to look like he’s fleeing. Once he exits the press room, it’s a quick trip down the hall and to the elevator where he can safely collapse against the wall, hidden away from prying eyes. He hates elevators, hates the tinted windows of this skyscraper and the suit he’s wearing and the tightness of his collar. By the time he’s reached the top floor, his tie is off and the top two buttons are undone.

“Mister Rocks,” Rococoa’s secretary, a tiny woman with an afro of tight twists named Licorina who’s better at her job than Amethar could ever be at his, stands as he enters and follows after him into Rococoa’s office. “You have a meeting in an hour, with development, and I CC’d you on a response I wrote to the shareholder’s representative, and your sister called, Sapphria, she wants to know if you want to go to a gallery opening with her next weekend.”

“Do I have time for a gallery opening?” He asks as he collapses into the ergonomic desk chair and presses his hand over his eyes. “Nevermind, add it to my calendar if I have the time, let Sapph know if I don’t. Have you heard from Cal?”

“Oh! Uh, no, there haven’t been any messages from him.”

“Alright, that’s- fine. That’s fine. Thanks, Licorina,” Amethar says. Licorina nods and scuttles back to her desk to work on all the things that Amethar doesn’t understand or follow closely enough, while Amethar sits behind his sister’s desk like it’s Take Your Fuck-up Sibling To Work Day and resists the urge to slam his head into it. Amethar is a responsible, mature adult. He is not going to throw a tantrum in this office, he’s not going to whine and moan right now, even if he wants to, even if Calroy was supposed to be here. He’d said he would come last night, that he’d be standing right offstage to support Amethar as closely as he could, that they could get lunch afterward. Cal has said a lot of things, lately.

Amethar closes his eyes again. Deep breath in, _**visualize the city skyline**_ , deep breath out.

He has a meeting coming up with a team that’s going to present things to him, going to expect him to know and understand what the hell they’re talking about. He sends a text that he doesn’t expect to get a reply to, telling Calroy that the press conference went well, and then focuses up. He wakes up Rococoa’s computer and opens the primer that’s been cobbled together for him; he has some catching up to do.

An hour later, he’d describe himself as _kind of prepared_ as he gets ready to lead Licorina, armed with a notebook/planner the size of her head and several colorful pens stuck in her hair, to the meeting, but the elevator doors open before he can even press the button. Amethar blinks in surprise and steps back as a man steps out, bald and tanned, almost as tall as Amethar with long scars stretched diagonally across his face.

“I don't remember seeing anyone on the schedule,” Amethar says cautiously as he looks him over, “Licorina, is he-?”

“No, Mister Rocks,” Licorina says. She unobtrusively makes her way around Amethar until she’s behind the man, out of his eye line but firmly in Amethar’s, and she makes an exaggerated face of distress. Amethar tries not to react visibly to her as the man grins, holding out his hand for a shake.

“Augustus Ciabatta,” He says, “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Amethar Rocks.”

“Oh, I _know_. That was _quite_ the press conference, Mr. Rocks,” Ciabatta says. Behind him, Licorina makes an angry face with bared teeth and gestures aggressively like she’s attacking something, as if this is the world’s most poorly timed game of charades. She points at Ciabatta and does the motion again. Ciabatta is… a monster? He seems average enough, if a bit presumptuous. Amethar shakes his head subtly as Ciabatta continues. “I was very impressed with your dedication and drive! It was… unexpected.”

Amethar doesn’t think that’s a compliment but he says “Thank you” nonetheless. Licorina rolls her eyes in frustration and puts a single hand in the air. It takes a moment for Amethar to recognize what she’s doing, to connect it to the little bit of sign that he knows, but he watches her sign _P-A-N-G-R-A_ before he gets it. “Oh, you’re from Pangranos Industries.”

“Haha, yes, I’m founder and CEO, actually,” Ciabatta says. There hadn’t been much on Pangranos Industries in Amethar’s primers because it only popped up a little over a year ago in Ceresia, immediately starting to absorb other businesses and growing into a massive affair in an unprecedentedly short period. The entry that he had been given was simply topped with big red text that said _Do not interact_. Ciabatta smiles like sunlight off a dagger, “Just wanted to come say hello to the neighbors.”

Amethar sets his jaw as he considers this. If he was suited up, he’d punch Ciabatta; if it was mere weeks ago and he was Rococoa’s silly younger brother, just hanging around her office and pretending to help out, he’d scowl until he went away; right now, Amethar is neither of those things. He is, for better or worse, the acting CEO of RocksCorp which means he has to _play nice_. _Ugh._

“I appreciate it, I do, but I have a meeting to get to, so,” Amethar says in his politest voice, “If you’d like to make a more official visit, Licorina can-”

“No, no,” Ciabatta interrupts, “I might see you around, Mr. Rocks, but I think this visit has given me all the information I need.”

Ciabatta flashes another grin before pressing the elevator button, stepping in alone and smiling until the doors slide shut behind him. The moment they’re alone, Licorina sighs like she’s deflating and presses a hand to her forehead.

“I don’t know how he got in,” She says, “ _All_ Pangranos Industries workers are on our _list_ and, besides, he _definitely_ shouldn’t have been able to make it all the way up here without either of us being informed. I don’t know where the system broke down but when I find out-”

“It’s fine, Licorina,” Amethar says, cutting off her panicked, angry rambling. “We’re already running late, right? Let’s get this meeting done and then we can figure out what the hell happened here.”

Licorina opens her planner and makes a note, nodding sternly. “Yes sir, Mister Rocks. Let’s get to work.”

* * *

_Then:_

_Powering up, please wait to be connected_ , the voice in Amethar’s ear chimes, robotic but peppy in a way that Amethar’s been told is supposed to sound _friendly_ and _accessible_. Amethar, personally, thinks it’s creepy as hell, and he thinks he’s somewhat of an expert on creepy voices in his head by now. Still, he bounces on his toes as the gentle waiting music plays, waiting for the chime that will tell him he’s fully connected, wishing he could be in the sky for his patrol already. Amethar doesn’t think he’s always hated being earth-bound this much -- he can’t have, before, surely -- but recently, flying has been his only solace. Nothing can touch him when he’s up above the city, it doesn’t matter that Lazuli locks him out of her study or that Rococoa never wants to go on runs with him anymore when he’s a hundred feet up, patrolling his city and making things better for _real_ people. Part and parcel with that freedom, though, is the Organization and all their rules. Amethar knows that he signed up for this, literally, and that it’s the best way to make sure he’s helping in a useful way and that his identity is protected, but sometimes the coordination and direction of the Organization operators takes so _long_.

Like it’d been waiting for the complaining thought, a sharp _ding_ of connection comes through and Amethar is in the air before the operator has a chance to clear him.

 _“I’d tell you you’re good to go but it seems you’re already gone,”_ A dry, familiar voice says, just audible over the rushing of wind. Amethar grins, delighted.

“Cal! I didn’t think it was your shift!”

 _“It wasn’t,”_ Calroy Cruller, operator and tentative new friend to Amethar, says on the other end of the line, _“But I_ begged _to trade shifts with Whipperly after I saw the article.”_

Amethar hasn’t known Calroy for long, but he’s still figured out that it’s easier to just give in when Calroy is trying to lead you into something. Dutifully, He asks, “What article?”

 _“The one from that Gazette reporter you saved on Tuesday, Catherine Ghee,”_ Calroy says, then, _“There’s an elementary school walking through Patches Park, if you want to do a quick fly-by.”_

“Roger that.” Amethar swoops down to circle above the park and wave to the kids. He takes the opportunity to look around for anything suspicious; he knows there won’t be anything, Cal would’ve told him if there was anything, but it doesn’t hurt to stay vigilant. “What’d she write?”

_“Nothing big, just your very first interview.”_

Amethar recoils from the words like they’re a blow, spiraling in the air. He doesn’t _do_ interviews, not as Amethar Rocks and certainly not when he’s suited up, because he’s _bad_ at them. “I didn’t give her an interview.”

 _“Obviously not,”_ Calroy says, and Amethar can just imagine him right now, grinning at the monitors as pieces fall into place. _“You don’t do interviews. But you kindly answered some questions for her while she was waiting for the ambulance and she was_ ever _so thankful…_ King _.”_

 _Oh Bulb, she_ published _that?_ Amethar thinks, grimacing, even as the stone purrs at the term of address. “You’re kidding.”

 _“I wish I was,”_ Calroy says, tone sliding right past understanding and into amused. _“After months of not picking a codename, I thought we’d get an announcement with a little more fanfare.”_

“I didn’t _mean_ to make an ‘announcement,’ she asked what to call me and I panicked.”

 _“I could’ve guessed,”_ Calroy laughs, _“Still, it’s so exciting for all of us to have someone so_ royal _on the team-”_

“Cal, _c’mon-_ ”

 _“If we could keep the chatter to a minimum, that would be appreciated,”_ The no-nonsense voice of Theobald Gumbar cuts in.

Amethar rolls his eyes even as Calroy demurs, _“Of course, Guardian, I apologize. Won’t happen again. King, you’re going to want to head towards Midtown, I’m getting reports of smoke in an apartment block.”_

The rest of Amethar’s patrol passes in repetitive motions of movement, coordinating with paramedics and firefighters, hunting down lost bikes and directing three different would-be thieves to community wellness programs. When he lands back at the warehouse that the Organization operates out of for debrief, there’s a pleasant ache in his muscles, a kind of light fatigue that makes him stifle a yawn as he enters. Calroy, whose shift had ended halfway through Amethar’s patrol, is leaning against the wall waiting for him.

“So,” He says instead of a greeting, “King?”

Amethar flusters. “She was inconsolable- Or, well, I _thought_ she was inconsolable. I was just trying to calm her down, and I couldn’t exactly tell her my _real_ name.”

“Fair enough, but _King_? I mean, _I_ like it, but it’s a bit…”

Calroy presses his index and middle fingers to the soft skin of Amethar's inner wrist and sends something that encompasses both the word “showy” and _sorry-not-sorry_.

“The-” Amethar cuts himself off, looks around. He’s trusted the Organization with his identity, his life, but the Fairy is… different. He’s told Calroy about it, before, but that doesn’t mean he wants it to be _everyone’s_ business. _The Fairy called me it once_ , He projects, and then finishes, “And it was a nickname I had, as a kid. I think that’s why- Well, you know.”

“Ah,” is all Calroy needs to say aloud when he can transmit _A nickname from your sisters? The ones who don’t know about all of this?_ directly to Amethar’s brain with enough judgment to make Amethar wince.

“Yeah, I know. It was an accident, but now it’s an accident that they can read about in the Gazette.” Amethar sighs, scrubs a hand over his face. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if his sisters find out; he knows that they worry, that they’ve been taking care of him since he was a kid, but he’s tired of being treated like a baby all the time and he’s sure they would try to lock him away if they knew he was putting himself in danger regularly, even _if_ he’s a little more indestructible than before.

Calroy hums consideringly and releases Amethar’s wrist to steeple his hands. “This is less than ideal but I think we can work it out.”

“We can?”

Calroy’s smile is like the sun off a skyscraper, blinding and brilliant. “Of course. I can work out most things, Amethar. You can count on me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning this chapter for depiction of illness in the _now_ section and some light mind control in the _then_ one. i'll detail it in the end notes

_Now:_

Amethar goes to visit Rococoa that evening, as he does twice a week every week. It’s relaxing, heading away from the skyscrapers and the tight crush of downtown at the end of the day, back out to the grey stone and ionic columns that make up the house that he grew up in _._ It’s just Rococoa’s now -- and Sapphria’s, technically, since she still crashes there whenever she’s in town -- but they all have their own keys and Amethar uses his to bypass the formality of knocking; Rococoa’s been lucky enough to be able to stay home for her treatment but he knows that it’s hard work for her to move from the first-floor bedroom to the door now, that even getting out of bed and pulling her IV to the bathroom is taxing sometimes.

As he walks through the foyer, he nods a hello to the portrait of his parents that hangs on the wall and calls out, “Hey, it’s Amethar! No one’s trying to rob you.”

“I’d like to see them try,” Rococoa calls back, amusement coloring her tone as she returns the old joke. When Amethar was a kid, Rococoa had seemed impossibly older than him; he doesn’t remember his parents much, they left him to his nannies and his sisters when he was young and were gone entirely before he turned fourteen, but he remembers Rococoa making him dinner and coming to his football games, giving him advice and nagging him about homework. Rococoa has always been there, solid and dependable and completely in control, and now… Now, Amethar is so thrown by how pale and trapped his sister looks, even in her own bed, that he almost doesn’t notice Citrina sitting in the chair beside her. Amethar stops in the doorway, unable to ignore the tension in the air; they both look nearly normal but there’s a stiffness to Citrina’s smile, a line between Rococoa’s eyebrows, an energy to the air that makes it clear that the most stubborn of Amethar’s sisters have been arguing.

“I can come back later,” Amethar offers, ready to step back out and close the door. Rococoa’s brow smooths as she scoffs.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I saw your little press conference today and I’ve been waiting to talk to you about it all afternoon.” She says, somehow making polite interest sound like a threat. She isn’t supposed to be keeping tabs on him, she’s supposed to be _resting_ , but Amethar knows that it won’t go well if he insists as much now. Amethar, like the good baby brother he is, sighs but walks around the room, avoiding taped down wires and clear medical tubing to sit beside Rococoa on the bed when she pats the comforter. “So, you’re gonna be better?”

Amethar resists the urge to cover himself in Rococoa’s pillows and groan because he is a responsible adult and he won’t let his sister’s teasing get to him. “Well, yeah. I don’t have much choice, do I?” He mutters.

Citrina gives him a Look. Amethar, who has become proficient at deciphering Looks from his sisters, knows that she’s saying _There’s always a choice, Amethar_. Amethar thinks of the shareholders who try to trip him up in different ways each time he sees them, of his parent’s dream for their company, of Pangranos. He thinks the choice wasn’t hard to make. Out loud, Citrina says, “We're all very proud of you.”

“I’d be even prouder if you’d acted like this back when you were working under me,” Rococoa mutters lightheartedly and Amethar nudges her arm with his elbow, ducking his head in embarrassment. Rococoa, taking pity on him, changes the subject. “I spoke to the doctor today.”

“And?” Amethar asks, perking up. His sisters trade looks between themselves, too complex for even Amethar to parse; he assumes they’re continuing the disagreement they were having before he came in, but it still chafes to watch them speaking without speaking, as though he’s a child again and his sisters have covered his ears so they can whisper to each other over his head.

“Rococoa isn’t getting worse,” Citrina says, eventually. She does not say Rococoa is getting better.

“Do they know what’s wrong?” Amethar presses. Rococoa’s illness had come on sudden and strong, one day she’d been learning how to do TikTok dances from Lazuli’s daughters and the next she had fainted mid-presenting RocksCorp’s newest security system, creating a wave of panic in the company so intense that even now, weeks later, people are still tittering about it. Rococoa is over ten years Amethar’s elder, but she was active, healthy, with no pre-existing conditions worse than a concussion obtained playing rugby in college; there is no reason that she should be so suddenly bedridden, so severely deteriorating.

“Well, he didn’t want to theorize, but-”

“No.” Rococoa says, cutting through Citrina’s placation. “They don’t. But I’m not getting worse.”

 _You’re not getting better_ , Amethar thinks but doesn’t say. He doesn’t have to say it. “They’re going to figure it out. Do you need more doctors, different doctors? We can get different doctors.”

Rococoa looks at him fondly, shakes her head. “I have enough doctors, Amethar. Now, tell me more about what you’ve been doing with my company.”

Amethar reluctantly drops it and gets ready to tell Rococoa about all the things he’s trying to pick up, but his phone buzzes in his pocket.

“I should get this,” He says, “Might be important.”

When he pulls it out, the only notification that’s managed to break through his Do Not Disturb is a text from Calroy, short and vague. **So glad it went well! Sorry I couldn’t make it, something came up w the org. You know how it is** , it reads. **I’ll make it up to you, lunch on Thursday?** As Amethar’s typing a response, two more texts come in: **Actually, I have a working lunch with Maillard on Thursday, Friday?** and **Wait, Friday won’t work either. Raincheck, okay sweetheart? Gotta go, love you!**

Amethar controls the corner of his mouth that tries to twitch into a frown and gamely doesn’t text his partner back _if you loved me, you’d cancel a work lunch to see me_ because he’s not a whiny, clingy high schooler. **Love you too** , he sends back, **See you at home?** The note under the message changes from _Delivered_ to _Read_ but no more messages come in. Amethar reluctantly puts his phone away and looks up to find both of his sisters staring at him.

“What?” He asks, putting an effort into smoothing any lines of stress from his face.

Rococoa and Citrina share another look before Rococoa asks, “How’s your young man? He hasn’t been by recently.”

Amethar clicks his tongue at how transparent they’re being and shakes his head. “Cal’s fine, just busy. Didn’t you want to hear about the awful, boring meetings I had to sit through today?”

Rococoa cedes easily and even Citrina’s _If you ever want to speak about it, I’m here_ look is easily ignored as Amethar begins to regale them with a commentated recap of the latest security features that Development is trying to create. The tension of earlier and Amethar’s stress slowly begin to melt away as they gently scold him, giving him useful advice under the guise of teasing. It feels familiar, perfect. Amethar isn’t a kid and he certainly can’t rely on his big sisters to set everything right anymore, but here, for the moment, Amethar can believe that everything is going to be okay.

* * *

_Then:_

Amethar holds his phone to his ear with one hand as he balances on his skateboard, rushing down the street as fast as he can around the evening campus crowds and towards the bus stop. The voice on the phone, his eldest sister Rococoa, chides, “You were supposed to leave campus twenty minutes ago.”

“It’s fine, I’ll be there.”

“You better!” Rococoa scolds. Amethar rolls his eyes. He’s not going to miss family dinner, he _never_ misses family dinner; maybe that’s a little bit because Rococoa never _lets_ anyone miss family dinner, but that doesn’t mean she needs to yell down the phone at him.

“Listen, ‘Co, I’ve gotta go, my bus is almost here.”

Rococoa sighs, heavy and disappointed. “You could’ve just asked one of us to pick you up.”

She doesn’t get why Amethar takes the bus, why he skateboards around instead of taking his driver’s test or letting one of his sisters pick him up from campus, but she doesn’t need to. That’s the thing about the bus: it’s Amethar’s decision. “I’m _fine_. I’ll text you when I’m close.”

“Alright, fine. See you soon, Amethar.”

“Yeah, love you.”

“Love you too.”

Amethar snaps his phone shut and arrives at the stop just as the bus is sliding to a stop. He tucks his skateboard under his arm as he waits in line with students and workers and other commuters, taking the 15 towards downtown. He scans his bus pass as he enters, grabbing the first loop of leather he sees hanging from the ceiling instead of looking for a seat; it’s not worth considering sitting down at this hour, especially not when he could let other people use the few open seats. Besides, Amethar has too much energy right now from making himself sit through a day of classes on economics and management and all the other things that he has absolutely no interest in.

Amethar isn’t the schooling type, he’d barely done well enough in high school to get into school without his family connections, but Rococoa insisted on it. _You need a marketable skill, Amethar_ , _you have to be able to take care of yourself in the world, Amethar, you should really get a job, Amethar_. Ugh. Amethar was _tired_ of hearing it. Two years in and he was already regretting agreeing to do this school thing, much less the business major he’d let Rococoa talk him into, but he didn’t know what else he could do -- Lazuli had her science and her experiments, Citrina dropped out of seminary to start a non-profit, and Sapphria- Well, Sapphria had gone to college and graduated while Amethar was still in high school, and she certainly wasn’t doing anything with her art history or anthropology degrees, but she still did _something_. Amethar leans his head against his arm, sighing. He doesn’t know why Rococoa is so insistent on him studying until his brain is numb at school when _RocksCorp_ is part of his birthright.

He shakes his head. Older sisters are incomprehensible sometimes. He looks out the window, waiting for the moment where the bus goes over a hill; it’s barely a blip of time in his commute, but as they power up to one of the few points in this part of the city that goes above Uptown’s cityscape, Amethar gets to experience his favorite view; watching the sunset glint off the distant, cloudy waters of the Sucrosi River as the hazy outlines of downtown grow ever larger, he feels so connected to his city. He’s been born and raised in Candia and he loves the city like it’s a part of him, and this glimpse always feels so perfect, so special, no matter how many times he sees it.

Eventually, he hops off the bus; there's a stop a few blocks down, just a little closer to the house, but Amethar prefers this: hopping on his skateboard, the wind on his face as he takes full advantage of the empty bike lane and avoids the potholes that plague the streets. The sky’s getting dark, a sure sign that he’s pushing close to Rococoa’s dinner deadline, so he moves quickly until a streak of light in the sky draws his attention. There’s a loud crash as it lands somewhere, nearby, and he skids to a stop. He has to go to dinner, he _can’t_ be late, but… Amethar’s seen meteor showers before, muggy summer nights where Lazuli helped him stay awake long enough to see the quick sparks of falling stars, but _this_ is something entirely different; the bright, unnatural light flashes behind his eyelids when he blinks, like a homing beacon. Before he’s even really thought about it, he’s back on his board and has turned from his route to try and find it, looking for any other indication of where that _thing_ might’ve landed. It takes him a few minutes, zooming up and down streets, but he eventually finds a small but still smoking crater in the lawn of a home he’s never seen before.

“What the hell?” He mutters, frowning. The meteorite is like nothing Amethar’s ever seen, so brightly purple that it’s almost glowing. Amethar knows, in the part of him that _does_ pay attention in class and when his sisters talk, that he shouldn’t touch it. He knows that it’s smoking, that it might be radioactive or dangerous or deadly, that Rococoa will kill him if he dies on his way to family dinner, but there’s something about the rock that seems to be calling to him. With little input from his rational mind, Amethar finds himself stepping onto this strange lawn, walking into the small crater, reaching a hand to the technicolor piece of space.

The glassy stone is smaller than his palm and hot to the touch, and as soon as his fingers make contact, Amethar thinks, in a saccharine, high voice that is not his own, _**Ah, you’ll do well**_.

The voice sounds pleased and possessive, and Amethar watches his hands pick it up and bring it to his breastbone, feels its weight press into him like it’s bigger and heavier than the simple meteorite it appears to be. His hands begin to glow violet as they push it ever more insistently into his skin, like they want the rock to go between the slats of his ribs, to replace his very heart. Amethar feels distantly, like it's happening to someone a room away, that he is very afraid.

 _ **There is no need to be frightened, little one**_ , The voice lilts, amused, _**It would be easier if I could live inside, but I suppose that I do not want to hurt you**_ **.** The thing that is not Amethar lifts the meteor to his eye level, clears Amethar’s throat, smiles with Amethar’s mouth.

“No, nothing to fear at all,” It -- Amethar, _It_ \-- says, “Little man, I am going to make you a _King_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> illness: rococoa is sick! she's weakened and confined to her bed and amethar mentions her seeing doctors, having an IV and wires and tubes around her
> 
> mind control: amethar is temporarily not in control of his body after picking up a radioactive stone, and it terrifies him for a bit. the stone insists it doesn't want to harm him but does take over his body, so.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small itty bitty manipulation warning for this one in the _then_ section

_Now_ :

Amethar struggles to open his apartment door, hands full holding his briefcase and three tupperwares of food from Rococoa’s; usually, Amethar would refuse to let his sisters send him home with leftovers like he’s a college kid who doesn’t know how to take care of himself or operate a stove, but Citrina stress cooks and Rococoa can only eat so much on her own.

“I’m home,” He says, to silence. Maybe he should expect this by now but Amethar’s heart still twists each time his boyfriend doesn’t meet him at home, even though he’s only seen Calroy before he’s gone to bed two nights in the last fifteen.

If it was a week into the future, Amethar’s monthly week with his daughter, it might be more bearable, the home a little less empty, but as it is, Amethar sighs as he kicks off his shoes and sheds his jacket. He throws his keys onto the hook of the fancy wooden key rack, which is just as polished and beautiful as usual, if a little clearer. Amethar turns on his phone flashlight rather than flipping the light switches on as he walks to the kitchen, for convenience sake, and puts the food away with only the light of the refrigerator and his camera flash to guide him. He drops his briefcase on the ground, enjoying the dull thud it makes as it hits the tile, and presses his forehead to the cool metal of the fridge.

 _ **This is pathetic**_ , the stone hisses. Amethar groans. “I _know_ , but what else am I supposed to do?”

Amethar closes his eyes tight, feeling the stresses of the day settle firmly on his shoulders. In his head, he can so clearly picture the moon, bright and half-full, and he decides that maybe he’ll feel better after a flight. Technically, he’s not supposed to take off from somewhere so close to his real identity -- no workplaces or homes if they can help it -- but it's dark out and it’s not like he lives in the center of the city; it’s easy for him to put on his costume and slip past a door that should be locked and up the stairs to the roof. He slides into the sky, tapping his communicator on as he goes. He half-expects Calroy’s voice, hoping the thing that’s kept him late is operating for someone’s late night patrol, but it’s Lapin Cadbury’s slow drawl that greets him when the network finishes connecting.

 _“My king, how are you?”_ Lapin asks. Amethar cringes, just a bit.

“You can just call me ‘King’, no need for the possessive.”

 _“Of course,”_ Lapin says, though Amethar is sure he’ll do it again. He usually does. Lapin is a mystery of the Organization, no one’s quite sure when he joined or where he came from, just that he’s been here and helpful for nearly as long as Amethar has. He claims that he can dismiss the floppy rabbit ears on his head at will but _Amethar_ has never seen him without them, so he’s not sure. _“You two are okay to run your normal patrol route, but nothing major should arise.”_

“It’s just me,” Amethar says, not for the first time. These kinds of quirks are why Amethar avoids Lapin, this and the judgemental look that Amethar can sense Lapin giving him, even through the silence of their connection.

_“Of course, my King.”_

Amethar rolls his eyes and goes through his normal route, flying over familiar streets and the same parks as always. The most exciting thing that happens is that he spots a young couple in one of the parks, though he avoids them as not any of his business because it’s certainly not his job to stop people from necking in public parks.

“You sure there’s nothing interesting going on tonight?” Amethar asks.

 _“Are you hoping for a threat or accident to happen?”_ Lapin asks. He’s more thoughtful than accusatory but Amethar still feels like it’s a reprimand. He sighs deeply, running a hand over his hair.

“No, I guess not,” He says, and Lapin hums again, flatter. Amethar disconnects shortly after that, returning home. The lights are all still off and for a moment, Amethar wonders if he’s just missed Calroy, if he’ll come inside and find him tucked into bed, but when he enters the apartment, it’s just as empty as it was when he left.

“Fine,” Amethar says to himself, to the walls, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Amethar tucks himself into bed and closes his eyes, hoping for sleep to come quickly. He wakes in the morning with Calroy’s arm thrown over his waist, his own body curled towards Calroy like a vine to the sun, like they are a set of opening and closing parentheses. Amethar presses his nose to Calroy’s hair, smiling drowsily.

“Good morning,” Amethar murmurs, kissing Calroy’s forehead. Calroy grumbles unintelligently and pushes Amethar away.

“‘M sleeping,” Calroy says.

“But-”

Calroy opens his eyes slowly, like it is a great difficulty, and frowns at Amethar, “I got in late last night and your thoughts are so…” Calroy scrunches up his nose. “ _Loud_. You have work anyway, I’ll see you later, alright? Goodnight.”

Calroy kisses Amethar, a sloppily-aimed brush of lips that hits Amethar’s beard more than anything else, before pushing Amethar away more resolutely and covering himself with their covers. Amethar scowls at the lump of blankets that is his boyfriend even as he tries to be understanding; if he’d come in late, he’d want to sleep in too, and Amethar _does_ have work to get ready for, but is it so hard for Calroy to understand that Amethar misses him?

Amethar leaves the bed anyway, going through his morning routine. Before he leaves the house, he stops back in the bedroom. “I’m heading out, hon,” He says. Calroy makes a groaning noise and frees one hand from his cocoon to wave goodbye before rolling over to go back to sleep. Amethar rolls his eyes and leaves, still in a bit of a mood as he slides into his car. The drive to the office isn’t long but it leaves him with plenty of contemplative time to think about the morning.

Maybe Calroy doesn’t feel the distance like Amethar does; maybe he’s better at adjusting to the change than Amethar is. It still doesn’t feel good because what does it say about Amethar that his boyfriend can be okay rarely spending time with him while he feels-

 **Possessive** , Chimes the Fairy, **As you well should be.**

 _That’s not how human relationships work_ , Amethar thinks with an eye roll as he parks. The Fairy huffs, annoyed. Amethar knows that she thinks of him as hers -- or maybe as an extension of her, it’s never been entirely clear -- and thinks that he should feel similarly about anyone he loves, but Amethar _isn’t_ a super-powerful alien, so he’ll have to figure out how to cope with normal human levels of connection. He makes it to the elevator just before the doors close and is delighted to find Licorina inside.

“Good morning, Mister Rocks,” She chirps. When Amethar first took over, Licorina was always at her desk when he arrived to work in the morning, working diligently until after he left at night, but recently he’s been trying to get in around the same time as her, to work the same hours.

“Morning Licorina,” Amethar replies, lifting a hand to cover a yawn. “How was your night?”

“Ah, well,” Licorina pauses unsurely, before rushing out, “I was going to wait to tell you until later, maybe send an email, but I got this last night, and-”

Licorina stops, biting her lip as she hands Amethar a flyer. It’s an eye-searing yellow and proclaims that Pangranos Industries is offering security consults and a month of free monitoring to households.

“This was on your house?”

“Yes, when I got home,” She says, “I didn’t think- I mean, they _just_ settled in the city, I didn’t think they had the staff or capacity to do something like this.”

“They would if they brought people with them,” Amethar says, thinking aloud. The elevator arrives and they step out, Amethar gesturing with the flyer as he continues. “All over the city is a lot, but if they brought a large percentage of their workers from their original office?”

“But wouldn’t that leave their Ceresian offices understaffed?” Licorina muses. She pulls a stack of post-its from her desk and makes a note, shaking her head. “Regardless, I suppose it’s possible, but it’s a big investment, especially in a city where there’s _already_ a security company.”

And that, of course, is the root of the problem. “There’s nothing we can do about this?”

“Ah, well,” Licorina hums and sits down, logging into her computer, “I can send an email to Marketing, maybe one to Development too, to see if we could do a promotion with that system they showed us yesterday, but it’ll take until the end of the week to organize, at least, much less to implement…”

Licorina trails off, muttering to herself, before she catches herself and looks at Amethar apologetically, “Oh, sorry, Mister Rocks. Do you have any questions today?”

“Nothing work-related,” Amethar says, waving her off, “You’ve been a big enough help without being burdened by my personal life.”

“If you’ll forgive me for saying so, I’m already a little intertwined in the Rocks’ personal life,” Licorina says, raising an eyebrow. She has a point; she’s been with Rococoa for years, she had been the one to sit in the ambulance after Rococoa’s collapse, and Amethar is pretty sure she got him a box of tissues for Rococoa’s office after he came in with tear-reddened eyes on his third day. “Is this about Ms. Rocks?”

“No, no, she’s- well, she’s the same,” Amethar says, “This is about… I’m sorry, and feel free to not answer this, but you have a girlfriend, right?”

Licorina flusters, predictably, but her smile softens as she speaks, each word seeped in affection. “I have a fiancée, actually.”

“You’re engaged?”

Licorina pulls a chain out of the collar of her blouse, a pretty little ring swinging on the end of it. “I don’t wear it at work because it distracts me, isn’t that silly? But we’ve been engaged for, oh… nearly nine months now. We’re waiting until things settle down with her job and we’ve saved enough for a _really_ good honeymoon to get married, but it’s still so wonderful.” Licorina says. She runs a finger over the diamond on her ring reverently, smile widening.

“Wow,” Amethar says, watching how Licorina reverently runs a finger over the diamond on her ring, the way her smile twitches joyfully wider. _**We want that**_ , his Fairy calls, and Amethar’s heart echoes the sentiment. _I want that_. “How did you decide to get married?”

“Linguina -- my fiancée -- her job is kind of… dangerous? And one day I was waiting for her to come home and it was really late, and I realized that I couldn’t stand the idea that if something happened to her or to me, we wouldn’t be married. I couldn’t stand missing the chance to be her wife.”

Amethar thinks about that, about love and devotion, a clear sign that they were tied together and that Calroy would stay right here. The corner of his mouth ticks up in a smile.

“Anyway,” Licorina says, “What was your question?”

“No, no, I think you just answered it,” Amethar says, fully grinning now. “I have to send my sister a text, but copy me on that email to marketing, and attach a picture of that flyer, please. It’ll do good to get their opinion on the situation and I can bring it up during the managers’ meeting this afternoon.”

“Sure thing, Mister Rocks,” Licorina says, tapping her right hand to her head like a salute. Her left is still fiddling with her engagement ring and she looks happier than Amethar’s seen her in weeks. _That could be me_ , Amethar thinks and then, with more resolve, _That_ will _be me_. He shoots off a quick inquiry into his father’s wedding ring, offered to Amethar years ago and ridiculously turned down -- _god_ , Amethar thinks, _I could’ve been doing this for a decade already_ \-- to Rococoa and then turns to his work, though he keeps his phone close. Things are finally starting to look up.

* * *

_Then:_

Amethar will be the first to admit that he’s not the most observant, but a few weeks after he’s started donning a poorly cut, homemade mask and helping out with small things around the cities at night when he can’t sleep, he notices he’s being followed.

It’s little things, a dark cape darting around a corner or a weird shadow, almost like they’re playing with him, almost like they want him to notice and wonder.

He’s reluctant to admit, even as he doodles caped crusaders in the margins of his notes, that it’s working.

He’s just finished stopping a mugger and redirecting them towards Citrina’s non-profit and resources when the shadow decides to make itself known.

“Hey there, killer,” The shadow says, voice vaguely robotic behind the modulate she’s using. When Amethar spins around on the defensive, the shadow holds up her hands in surrender, her mouth ticking up with amusement. “Relax, I come in peace.”

Amethar doesn’t relax, because he’s not an _idiot_ , but he does try to look a little less obviously on edge as he observes the shadow; she’s wearing a full bodysuit, impressive and professional, with a mask that goes over her head like a hoodie and ends just above her nose, all in a blue so dark that it looks black.

“Hi,” Amethar cautiously says, feeling self-conscious in his sweats and scraps of cloth. “Who are you?”

“Who are _you_?” The shadow fires back, putting her hands on her hips, “You’re taking _my_ patrol route. Not that I care about that sort of thing much, I’m not one of _those_ heroes, as long as good gets done it doesn’t matter who does it, but you should at least be _connected_ if you're going to be out here.”

“Connected?”

The shadow looks him up and down. “Oh, you’re a _baby_ ,” She says, before pressing a hand to the space around her ear and saying, “Hey, control? Got a newbie, gonna bring him back, okay? Get shortcake ready.”

“I didn’t agree to go anywhere with you,” Amethar argues. The shadow tilts her head, silent for a moment, and then nods.

“Fair enough, fair enough, but how about this: you seem like a smart boy. You’re probably confused, a little lost, but you want to help. Obviously you want to help, otherwise you wouldn’t be copping my job, but guess what, kid? It’s a lot easier to help when you have allies and I want to be on your side,” She says, quiet but still intense. “Now, you want to come with me and meet more people to help you, or do you want to keep struggling on alone?”

“I-” Amethar swallows thickly, blinks. “What’s your name?”

She snorts, shaking her head. “Kid, you’ve got a _lot_ to learn. You can just call me Umbra.”

Following Umbra across rooftops and down sidestreets is easy, and when she stops in front of a warehouse near the train yard, Amethar only thinks he’s going to be murdered a _little_ bit. Umbra knocks a pattern on a normal looking part of wall and Amethar watches as it slides inward, like an automatic door, revealing a pleasantly smiling man with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Hey there, shortcake,” Umbra says. The man in the doorway smiles slightly wider.

“Hello, Umbra,” He says. He turns to Amethar and Amethar can really appreciate the slant of his eyebrows, the line of his jaw, the way a few of his curls have escaped his neat ponytail. The man holds out a hand. “And what’s your name?”

“Am- Ah, I mean,” Amethar cuts himself off, unsure. He hadn’t thought as far as a codename. The man’s handshake is firm, comfortable, and his eyes crinkle at Amethar’s hesitation.

“No name for the stranger?” The man asks, though before Amethar can embarrass himself more, Umbra cuts in.

“Relax, kid, Calroy already knows.”

“Already knows?” Amethar asks, “What do you mean?”

“Sorry for the cloak and dagger, but he’s our early detection system,” Umbra explains. “He’ll have your name by now.”

“He’ll _what_?”

Calroy smiles apologetically. “Touch telepath,” He admits, and instantly everything that Amethar would never want anyone else to know flashes through his head. He pulls his hand back like he’s touched a hot stove and Calroy takes it with grace, pulling a leather glove out of his pocket and sliding it on like nothing’s happened. “I only get surface thoughts and a little emotion, really! It’s a little invasive and I do apologize for not warning you beforehand but-”

“But that’s the point,” Amethar finishes, looking warily between Calroy and Umbra. “So you can know who everyone is.”

“Got it in one. He’s scanned everyone who works with the Organization.”

“Everyone, but you, Umbra,” Calroy corrects.

Umbra hums affirmatively and Amethar realizes that Umbra doesn’t have any more skin showing than necessary, covered to her fingertips and toes. After a tense moment, Umbra clears her throat. “Anyway, the Organization. They can help you fight smarter, not harder. Get you a uniform a little nicer than your spare sweats.”

“And, of course, it goes without saying that if you _don’t_ join us, we’ll have to report your identity to the registry,” Calroy says. His mouth twists unhappily. “It’s nothing personal, really, and the Organization can protect your identity, but…”

Umbra rolls her eyes. “But we simply have no choice,” Umbra says, pitching her voice to sound like Calroy’s. “Carrot and the stick, I’m sure he gets it. So? What do you say?”

It’s not much of a choice, when it comes down to it; Amethar wants to keep doing this, and Calroy and the Organization are as alluring as they are intimidating. “Count me in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> manipulation: amethar is tricked into having his mind read and then offered a no-win ultimatum so he'll join the Organization


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minor mind control warning for the _then_

_Now:_

If you ask the press, other influential families in the city, Sapphria is happy-go-lucky and flighty to a fault, flitting away the Rocks family fortune without a care in the world. Amethar knows differently; it was always Sapphria who caught him sneaking out first, who made graduating early look easy, who disappeared for weeks at a time and returned bruised but grinning. If he had to ask any of his other sisters for their parent’s ring, Amethar wouldn’t be nervous; his other sisters baby him, can be swayed by shows of sentimentality and emotion, but at only three years older than him, Sapphria has never fallen victim to his pouting or wide eyes.

“So. What changed?” Sapphria asks, raising a brow as they sit at her current favorite coffee shop, evening sun slanting in the full-length windows.

Amethar sets his jaw at her tone but answers evenly, “I decided I wanted it.”

“You didn’t ten years ago.”

“Ten years is a long time, things can change.”

“Hm, so they can,” Sapphria says. She takes a long sip from her soy milk latte and pulls a black paper gift box from her purse; it rattles slightly as it settles, unassuming and small enough to fit in even Sapphria’s palm. “Are you sure things have changed enough for this? I remember how spooked you were when Rococoa tried to give it to you last time.”

“I wasn’t ready then, she scared me.”

Sapphria snorts. “You were moving in with a man you’d been dating for less than six months and _Rococoa_ scared you?”

“His lease was running out and it’s not like he was a _stranger_ ,” He mutters in defense, picking up his coffee to give himself more time. The roast is bitter and heavy against his tongue. “Licorina -- Rococoa’s little secretary, you know her -- was talking to me about her fiancée and I thought it sounded nice.”

“Someone else’s life sounding _nice_ doesn’t mean you have to propose to the man.”

Sapphria throws the word like it’s something sharper. _Propose_. Amethar tries to figure out how to explain in a way that Sapphria would believe that this is the right next step; Amethar had taken the ease of his routine for granted when he ended each day with his arms around Calroy, when he could count on listening to Calroy complain about contestants on the Bachelor over pancakes in the morning, but he’s just realized how temporary this all could be, how easily Calroy could pull away, and this seems like the best way to stop that.

“Are you going to give it to me or not?” He settles on asking, “Because if you’re not, I can just go to a jewelry store-”

Sapphria huffs and pushes the box across the table with enough force that Amethar has to scramble to catch it before it falls. He looks up from the box, tiny in his hands, to meet Sapphria’s and almost flinches at the gleam of them; Sapphria is looking at him the same way she used to when she caught him forging Rococoa’s signature on failed English quizzes, like she can see directly through him and is going to let him make a mistake so he can learn consequences for himself.

Sapphria shakes her head like she’s coming to terms with a decision she doesn’t like. “I don’t think you should do this.”

Amethar rolls his eyes. “I could’ve guessed.”

“I’m serious, Amethar. I don’t think this is a good idea and I don’t think you’ve thought this through. Your little boyfriend disappears and you decide to propose?”

“ _Don’t_ call him that, you _know_ how you sound, we’ve been together for ten years,” Amethar snaps. The two of them scowl at each other -- the youngest Rocks siblings, stubborn and spoilt and snappish -- until Sapphria rolls her eyes.

“Sorry,” She grumbles, almost sounding like she means it. She rolls her shoulders and leans an arm on the table, resting her head against her palm. “I just- Explain it to me, Amethar. I promise I’ll listen.”

Amethar has never been good at holding grudges against his sister. He says, “I love him.”

“Mhm,” Sapphria hums in agreement, then raises her eyebrow when he says nothing more. “Is that it? That’s not something new, you loved him even before you got the nerve to ask him out. We all know that.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Amethar. Honey. You can’t just propose because you love him,” Sapphria says, holding up a hand to stop Amethar from protesting before she’s done. “You’ve _loved_ him. That’s not new. You didn’t propose to him before, what changed?”

Amethar opens and closes his mouth, he doesn’t know how to say _I need him to know that I’m serious_ or _I want him to be around again_ without sounding like a petulant child afraid that a favorite toy will be taken. “We’re older now. I’ve thought more about it.”

Sapphria leans back in her chair, taps her fingers on the table. “Have you?”

“What- Of course I have, Sapph. We’ve been together for a decade, marriage is-”

“Marriage is a big party that you have to show everyone something that you’ve already decided. It’s about having taken the next step in your relationship and choosing to show everyone else that.”

“What do _you_ know about marriage?” Amethar asks, “Marriage can be a lot of different things for a lot of different people, you don’t even _date_.”

“I date enough to understand how to cope with not living in my partner’s pocket better than you do,” Sapphria snaps, crossing her arms. After a moment, she presses a hand to her forehead and apologizes, “Sorry, that was over the line.”

“Yeah, it was.” Amethar frowns at her. “Why are you so against this? You like Cal.”

“I think you’re making a rash decision and it’s going to come back to bite you,” Sapphria says, her voice low and serious, her eyes drilling into Amethar’s, “I think a lot of things are changing in your life right now and Calroy is-”

She cuts herself off, looks away from Amethar and out the window. The silence grows like a physical thing, like a bubble between them, one Amethar almost doesn’t want to break. Sapphria starts tapping her fingers on the table again.

“You like Cal,” Amethar repeats, brow furrowed. Sapphria doesn’t look back at him, neither disagrees nor offers reassurances. Amethar’s frown deepens but he doesn’t say anything else.

“Calroy is- fine, I don’t _dislike_ him, I just have this feeling…” Sapphria cuts herself off, “Whatever, it’s probably just my brain getting a headstart on that infamous in-law hatred- I’m _joking_ , don’t look at me like that.” Sapphria snorts. “Just, think about it before you propose, alright? Will you promise me that, that you’ll think more about it?”

Amethar rolls his eyes but nods, putting his father’s ring in his pocket. “I promise I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I can ask of you,” Sapphria says. She stands up and presses a kiss to the center of Amethar’s forehead, smooths a hand over his dreads. “See you at Rococoa’s this weekend?”

Amethar nods and watches her leave, putting the box into his pocket. He’ll sleep on it, he decides. He’ll have plenty of time to think about it at home. All during his drive, Amethar’s hand keeps drifting to his pocket, imagining the ring that rests inside it. His father’s ring is golden with two wavy, engraved lines circling the thick band and a big square cut black diamond in the center; Amethar remembers it catching the light when his father would open the morning paper, remembers the way it had sparkled when Rococoa told him that he could use it for Calroy almost a decade ago, hopes that it will look just as bright on Calroy’s finger. _**Getting ahead of yourself, little one**_ , The stone murmurs, but Amethar can feel it’s warm pleasure as well as his own, delighted by the idea of publicly declaring that someone is _theirs_.

When he arrives back at the apartment, Amethar mumbles “I’m home,” out of instinct as he kicks off his shoes. He jumps when a voice calls out _“Welcome back”_ from further in.

“Cal?” He asks. He finds Calroy at the stove, the faded words of one of Amethar’s old football sweatshirts stretched over his shoulder. “I didn’t think you’d be home.”

Calroy laughs, nervous, a bit ashamed, and Amethar can’t help but think _good_. “I know, I know. Work’s been- well, you know.”

Amethar doesn’t know, actually. At all. _It would help if you were ever home to tell me_ , He thinks but doesn’t say. Instead, he comes up behind Calroy, presses a chaste kiss on the nape of Calroy’s neck and projects _Affection, Happiness, Missed you_ as heavily as he can, reveling in the contented noise Calroy makes in return.

“What are you doing?” Amethar asks. Calroy nods towards the pot on the stove, full of dark liquid and some chunks of what Amethar thinks are poorly cut potatoes. “Oh, looks… great.”

Calroy snorts. “I can read your mind, sweetheart, you don’t have to lie to me.”

“Alright, then you should know that _I_ know you’re trying your best, and that’s what matters.”

Calroy hums affirmatively and turns, leaning up to kiss Amethar properly. “I missed you,” He says.

“I’ve been right here,” Amethar says. It comes out with more bite than he’d intended, a roiling undertone of frustration that’s real, even if he hadn’t wanted to show it to Cal. Calroy sighs and his mouth twitches in a way that means he wants to roll his eyes.

“It’s not as if I wanted to stay late at the Organization. I don’t _like_ not being home.”

“I know that, it’s just,” Amethar huffs, at a loss for words, and Calroy _does_ roll his eyes this time as he steps out of the circle of Amethar’s arms and walks out of their kitchen, leaving Amethar to follow after him. “Come on, Cal, am I supposed to be perfectly okay with not having talked to you in a week? You come home after I go to bed, you’re still sleeping when I have to leave-”

“I have a _job_ , Amethar, one that I try to be _good at_ , and sometimes it requires more of my attention than my boyfriend does,” Calroy says.

“That’s not fair, I’m working hard at my job too, which you would know if you were ever _here_.”

“I’m trying my best here, Amethar,” Calroy snaps. Almost immediately he softens, frowning and sitting down heavily on the couch. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to fight with you tonight. I had a whole _plan_ , and now… I’m sorry.”

Amethar feels a twist of guilt in his gut, the box in his pocket feeling heavier by the second. He sits as well and puts his arm around Calroy. “ _I’m_ sorry. I just missed you and it’s been hard, at work. Rococoa keeps saying I’m doing well but…”

Amethar presses his free hand to his temple. Calroy reaches up and places his hand over Amethar’s, lowering them onto Amethar’s lap as he hums. _Rococoa’s not one for equivocation_ , He thinks, then says, “If Rococoa says it, you can probably believe her.”

“I know she’s not but she’s my _sister_ , you know? She said I was doing a good job when I used to just fuck around in an office and pretend to answer emails all day.”

“To be fair, that is what she hired you for,” Calroy says, laughing at the affront on Amethar’s face. “Come on, sweetheart, you know she was worried about you and wanted you close by.”

“Well, yeah,” Amethar says, “But there’s no need to say it _out loud_.”

Calroy shakes his head, squeezing their joined hands. “I’m just saying, you did a good job before and you’re doing well now. There’s no need to push it.”

“I want to do this right.”

“And you will! You’re just holding down the ship until Rococoa gets better, right? No need to get _too_ into it if you’re already doing fine,” Calroy says. He takes Amethar’s face in his hands and fills him with a feeling of _Love_ so strong that it’s staggering. “I just don’t want you to run yourself into the ground. Too much work isn’t good for you.”

Amethar nods the best he can when his head is being held. It isn’t unreasonable, he thinks, for Calroy to want him to be safe; he’s never _really_ had to do work like this before, after all, and better safe than sorry. “I promise I’ll take care of myself.”

“That’s all I can ask for,” Calroy says, and when he kisses Amethar, it feels like coming home on a rainy day, like taking off into a clear sky, like it’s absolutely perfect.

“I missed you,” Amethar says against Calroy’s lips. Calroy laughs, quiet and sweet.

“Obviously I missed you too,” Calroy says, kissing Amethar again. When they finally part, Calroy sighs, “It’s been a weird few weeks but I should- it should be less busy now.”

“And you’re sure they don’t need my help?”

“Absolutely. The only thing you need to worry about is coming home to me,” Calroy says, laughing again, and Amethar suddenly can’t resist the urge to reach into his pocket and take out that plain box. Calroy’s mouth drops open in surprise as Amethar fumbles with it, almost drops his father’s ring in his haste. “Amethar, what is that.”

The question barely sounds like one, coming out of Calroy’s mouth as flat as day old soda. Amethar laughs nervously, taking the ring between his fingers. “Well, it’s my dad’s ring.”

“Okay. What are you doing with it, sweetheart? I thought you gave that back to Rococoa.”

Amethar doesn’t remember telling Calroy about that -- it had been mortifying at the time and he’d never really felt the need to bring it up afterward -- but he’s not surprised that Calroy knows; there never have been many secrets between them. “I did but, I mean, did I ever tell you the whole story? Back when we first moved in together, Rococoa took me out to lunch and tried to give this to me, but I said I wasn’t the marrying type, that _we_ weren’t the marrying type, but… Cal, you’re my best friend and-”

Amethar takes Calroy’s wrist and cuts himself off with a pained gasp as he’s hit with an undiluted wave of _terror love joy sorrow I can’t I can’t I can’t **I can’t**_. Calroy has pretty good walls, always has, and they only falter in moments of extreme emotion -- their first kiss being the one Amethar remembers most, but even that was nothing like _this_. Amethar hasn’t gotten this much psychic bleed… _ever_.

“Cal-”

Calroy rips his wrist away from Amethar. “You can’t be serious.”

Amethar’s face falls at the coldness of Calroy’s tone. When he reaches out for Calroy again, Calroy shifts further away to avoid him, the loveseat becoming a gulf between them. Amethar furrows his brow, speaking deliberately, “I’m being serious, Cal, why wouldn’t I be serious about this?”

“We’re not the marrying type,” Calroy says, the ice defrosting into something higher, more hysteric as he pushes off the couch and takes five steps away from it, from Amethar, from all of this, “You just said that.”

“I said we _weren’t_ ,” Amethar shakes his head, “Things change, Cal, I love you and I want to marry you.”

“I- You don’t,” Calroy turns back around to look at Amethar, his expression stricken but resolved. “You _don’t_ want to marry me.”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure I do,” Amethar laughs humorlessly.

“Then _I_ don’t want to marry _you_!” Calroy throws his hands in the air. “We can’t get married.”

“Why _not_?” Amethar demands, frustrated.

Calroy shakes his head and takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes for five seconds, exactly, and when he opens them he’s no longer the Cal that pours _Affection_ into a shoulder pat just because he can, but the Commander Battenberg that bloodlessly directs people three times as powerful as him into deadly situations on a daily basis. Amethar is so shocked by the sharp disconnect of the man he loves that he flinches. “This is ridiculous. You _don’t want to marry me_ ,” Calroy says again, more intently.

“I _do_ ,” Amethar says, sharper and louder than he meant to. He sets his jaw so firmly that his jaw aches and he feels it throughout his head, a pulse of pain in his temples as he grinds his molars together. Across the room, Calroy squeezes the bridge of his nose, the same way he does when he’s getting a headache. “Cal, I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” Calroy mutters with a shake of his head. “I’m going to go.”

“What? Where are you _going_?”

“This isn’t going anywhere,” Calroy says, “I don’t understand why you- Whatever. I’m just staying somewhere else tonight.”

“Where else can you even go? You don’t-” _have anyone else_ is how the sentence ends, though Amethar bites his tongue before the moment of no return. However, an unfortunate side-effect of having been together for so long is that, even without the closeness required by his telepathy, Calroy can read him easily. Amethar is helpless to do anything but watch as Calroy’s face twists into anger in a way that’s startlingly unfamiliar to Amethar.

“You might be surprised to find I have a life outside of you, Amethar Rocks, but I _do_ and I’m certainly not staying here any longer,” Calroy snarls. He storms out of the living room, ignoring Amethar at his heels and not stopping until he has to to put his shoes on.

“Cal, c’mon, we don’t have to do this,” Amethar says as Calroy furiously laces up his shoes. “We don’t fight, we can talk about this-”

“Don’t you ever wonder why we don’t fight?” Calroy asks. Amethar blinks in shock, opens and closes his mouth a few times but he doesn’t, he’d never considered it before. Calroy shakes his head and grabs his keys from the hook, “Think about it. I’ll see you later.”

Calroy slams the door when he leaves, possibly the first time that their front door has ever been slammed. Amethar thinks _It would’ve been better if I didn’t see him tonight at all_ and, like it’s retribution, the smoke alarm immediately begins going off. Amethar remembers Calroy’s stew and rushes to the kitchen, shutting the fire off before fanning at the alarm with a hand towel until it stops. The pot, when Amethar checks, holds only shriveled lumps of starch and dried, burnt burgundy splatters that may have once been soup, small amounts of smoke still drifting out, any positive part of Calroy’s early arrival entirely evaporated.

* * *

_Then:_

Amethar still doesn’t trust the Organization further than he could throw their secret warehouse base (which, admittedly, might be more possible now than it would have been before), but he has to admit that their resources are useful. Amethar had taken self-defense classes with Sapphria when he was 15 but he had barely been good at it then, much less four years out with no practice. He’s beginning to figure out that his success in the field so far has largely been due to luck.

“You’re too easy to read,” Calroy, his current sparring partner, says, before easily ducking under Amethar’s fist and swiping his legs from under him. The first time they’d sparred together, Calroy had told Amethar that he didn’t have to pull his punches, even though the other man has no augmentations besides his telepathy. Amethar, winded as he pushes up off the mat, is starting to think that he should listen to him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be training that out of me?” Amethar asks. Calroy snorts.

“Umbra’s training that out of you,” Calroy says, tossing Amethar a water bottle, “I don’t have the skills to train _anyone_.”

“What do you call this then?”

“I’m barely more than a glorified punching bag.”

Amethar shakes his head, “I’d have to be able to land a punch for that to be true.”

Calroy looks Amethar up and down. Amethar’s skin tingles with it, even though the motion is done in a second. “Does that mean you’ll stop holding back?”

Amethar winces. He doesn’t know how strong the Fairy makes him, not exactly, but he knows that he ripped the strap off his backpack the other day with almost no effort and doesn’t want to think about that kind of thoughtless power applied to another human. He deflects, “Will you use your powers?”

“I think you drastically overestimate my powers,” Calroy demurs. “I can barely read anything through clothes and I _definitely_ can’t transmit while I’m trying to focus on not being knocked out. Look, I’ll show you.”

Calroy tosses both their waters back towards the wall and wraps a hand around Amethar’s forearm. “Okay, now try to punch me.”

Amethar frowns. “At this range?”

“No, I want you to go across the room,” Calroy rolls his eyes, “ _Obviously_ from here. I told you, skin to skin only.”

“But what if I-”

“Amethar Rocks,” Calroy says, his voice low and annoyed enough that Amethar immediately snaps his mouth shut. Calroy rarely uses his name, it’s all codenames and secrets here even if everyone already knows everything about everyone else, and it’s- weird. It’s weird to hear his full name, especially in this tone of voice. “If you don’t stop treating me like I’m made of glass, this hand is going around your throat, got it?”

Amethar swallows, thickly. “Got it.”

Amethar pulls his fist back and gets a third of the way through a swing when he thinks _I don’t want to hit Calroy, why would I ever hit Calroy?_ and his arm locks up, unable to move even when he shakes the thought away. Calroy’s eyes are shut tight and his fingers tighten around Amethar’s arm as Amethar tries harder to follow through with his swing.

“Is this you?”

Calroy smiles, just a bit, and then drops to the ground as Amethar suddenly finds himself unstuck and swings at the air with so much force that he stumbles. Calroy hops back up a safe distance away, more out of breath than Amethar has ever been able to take him in their sessions.

“See? I can’t hold it for longer than a minute and I’m exhausted afterwards. Not useful in the field.”

“It was still cool,” Amethar insists. He puts his hand over where Calroy had held him, wonders if some of the heat from Calroy’s hand lingers still as he massages the tendons. “I couldn’t _move_ for a second, I’ve never felt something like that before. You’re _really_ strong.”

“You’re…” Calroy’s eyebrows are high and incredulous. “You know, you don’t have to flatter me. It won’t make me go easy on you.”

“No, I mean it! I bet if you trained this-”

“I’ll stop you right there,” Calroy shakes his head, laughing now. “I’ve been practicing my whole life and nothing’s changed. It’s not sad, okay, I like what I can do now. I’m happy to help in the way that I can.”

“Okay but if you ever change your mind, you’ve got a willing test subject right here.”

Calroy laughs again, eyes crinkling shut as he does. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mind control: while sparring, amethar asks calroy to use his powers on him, which results in calroy stopping amethar's ability to move for a minute


	5. Chapter 5

_Now:_

The next day, Amethar doesn’t go into work. He’s supposed to, of course, he’s pretty sure he even had a meeting, but he doesn’t; the company basically runs on its own, no reason for him to overexert himself if no one needs him there. He sleeps in instead, he turns off his alarm and rolls over in his big, empty bed, pulling the covers over his head until he’s back to dreams about making his way up an impossibly small staircase, crawling through the low-ceilinged landings and holding tight to the railings.

Despite the tightness of his dreamscape, when he finally does get up, he feels free; the bright afternoon light seeps through his blinds as he stretches and swaps his sleep clothes for a t-shirt and a pair of well-worn jeans, clothes more casual than he’s allowed himself to be in weeks. He puts his phone in his pocket and he pads to the kitchen, tossing the entire charred, ruined pot from last night into the garbage and taking a swig directly from the milk carton. He feels… good, better than he did last night when everything seemed impossible to fix and entirely awful; he isn’t sure what to do about Calroy and his failed proposal, but it all seems much more surmountable in the light of day.

He pulls his phone out and winces at the number of emails and missed calls, but ignores them to send Calroy **Hey, I’m sorry, can we talk?** and shoot a quick apology to Licorina for disappearing. Moments after he’s sent that, while he’s trying to decide if the emails or phone calls would be less intimidating to go through first, a call comes in from Caramelinda. Amethar frowns as he puts the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Are you sick?”

“What?”

Caramelinda takes a deep breath, “You don’t sound sick. How are you feeling, brother-in-law?”

“Good?” He answers before his brain catches up. When it does, he grimaces and thinks _Fuck_. Caramelinda only calls him ‘brother-in-law’ when she’s particularly upset. “I mean, bad. I feel bad.”

“Lying will only make this more painful for both of us,” Caramelinda says flatly. Before Amethar can mumble an explanation or apology, she’s continuing, voice like a whip. “So, if you’re not sick, what was _so_ pressing that my wife had to be called into meetings for you today?”

Amethar’s mouth falls open in surprise. He had assumed- Well, he hadn’t really been thinking about RocksCorp, earlier, just about himself and how good a rest day would be. He figured things would go on without him, without thinking of _who_ might have to continue them. “Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” Caramelinda says. “Amethar, you can’t do this anymore. I know you’re trying but I _also_ know that you’re smarter and a lot more stubborn than you look. Lazuli turned down being interim CEO because she doesn’t have the time between her lectures and research, in case you’ve forgotten, and yet, today she’s doing _your_ job.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t forget, I just,” Amethar sighs, “I had a rough night.”

“You had a rough night.”

“Yeah, I did. I can’t- I don't want to talk about it,” He says, voice tight. Caramelinda sighs over the phone, breath grainy with interference.

“Fine. You don’t have to talk to me, but you should probably go by the tower.”

“I will,” Amethar assures her, grabbing his keys and feeling both supported and cowed, “Thanks.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” Caramelinda says, but she sounds softer, kinder now. “But, hey, come over this weekend, okay? The girls miss you.”

“I miss them too,” Amethar says, promising to come visit as he says hangs up. When he arrives at RocksCorp, he’s greeted by Licorina’s empty desk and, even weirder, the closed door of Rococoa’s office. His eyebrows furrow even as he knocks.

There’s a thump, not unlike the sound of a heavy book being knocked off a desk as someone is startled; it’s a sound that permeates some of Amethar’s happiest childhood memories -- Rococoa’s stern chastising, Citrina’s absentminded singing, Lazuli’s pensive clumsiness, Sapphria’s wild cackle. He snorts as Lazuli’s voice comes through the door, muffledly insisting that _“It’s fine, nothing's broken.”_ Lazuli pulls open the door in a state of half disarray; some of her braids have escaped from their bun and her glasses are smudged with fingerprints, a hard contrast to the sharp, formal pantsuit she wears.

“Wonderful timing, I was just about to need you,” Lazuli says, then pauses, “Or, I had just needed you. Sorry, I was unclear. It would’ve been useful to have you before, but the next best time for you to appear is now.”

Amethar winces a bit even though Lazuli doesn’t mean it as an admonishment. “Sorry about that, I needed a day.”

“Typically, when you need a day, you call in,” Licorina mutters from her spot by Rococoa’s desk, scrolling through something on her laptop with narrow-eyed focus.

Lazuli waves a hand, “It’s no problem, Rococoa told me.”

“Rococoa told you?” Amethar asks, his head snapping towards Lazuli in shock, “What does _she_ know? I didn’t tell her anything.”

Lazuli’s eyes move up and to the right and she bites her bottom lip, the way she does when she wants to say something but isn’t sure if it’s appropriate or kind to do so. Amethar bristles, just slightly; _he_ shouldn’t be someone she has to worry about that around. Lazuli catches his expression and sighs.

“She told me you asked for father’s ring,” Lazuli says, “And I inferred the result by your… state.”

Lazuli gestures vaguely at Amethar. Amethar scowls. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Calroy has never shown any interest in marriage. I remember how excited you were when Caramelinda and I were planning our wedding and have since anticipated that this would be a source of conflict,” Lazuli says, like she’s reading a chemical fact sheet and not laying out how Amethar ruined his longest relationship, “When Rococoa told me about your inquiry, I assumed that the two of you had spoken about it before but that you decided to take a chance anyway. You don’t have the look of a man who was told yes.”

“We had never,” Amethar starts, his voice too soft, too fragile. He clears his throat and tries again. “Cal and I never talked about marriage.”

“You… never?” Lazuli asks, sounding genuinely shocked for once. “I’m confused. You’ve always wanted to get married.”

Amethar frowns, feeling his headache coming back. He shakes his head. “No, I- I mean, I remember I wanted to marry Catherine, back then, but I didn’t… I _couldn’t have_. I didn’t want to marry Calroy.”

“... Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

“I’m okay, we just had a fight,” Amethar says, taking a deep breath. “We should just talk about what you had to do today.”

Lazuli takes a step closer, takes Amethar’s face in her hands. “No, your pupils just dilated. You don’t have a fever but… maybe taking today off has been good for you, do you want to go back home-”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Amethar says, pushing her hand away. “Come on, _I_ can’t be the responsible one here, get me updated.”

Lazuli still looks skeptical but backs off, gesturing Amethar towards the desk. “Most of it has already been emailed to you,” Lazuli says, giving Amethar a look that says that she knows he hasn’t checked any of his work notifications, “Except one thing: Pangranos came by for a meeting.”

“They did what?”

“It wasn’t for long and we were just trying to figure out how to tell you,” Lazuli assures him.

“He made an appointment after all,” Licorina says, “But with someone else, an undersecretary who _shouldn’t_ be authorized to make appointments for you but somehow he _did_. So Ciabatta came in and, when you weren’t there, he said he didn’t want to talk to Doctor Rocks either. Apparently, he spoke to Rococoa before her collapse and said he didn’t ‘appreciate’ the ‘revolving door’ of Rocks siblings in charge here.”

“Rococoa is _sick_ , what does he _mean_ -”

“I assure you, we were just as angry at the insinuation,” Lazuli says. “He asked for a meeting with our board of directors tomorrow, all _you_ have to do is show up and explain that, while you required one of your allowed sick days today, you’re perfectly capable and happy to serve as interim CEO as Rococoa recovers.”

Amethar nods, but, “Sounds almost too easy.”

“I anticipate that it might be more difficult than you think,” Lazuli says cryptically. Licorina dismisses herself, probably to go back to her hard work while Amethar keeps getting caught up, and Lazuli continues, “Anyway, now that that’s sorted, what’s this about a fight? Caramelinda said no twice before we were engaged and I remember it mostly just being awkward.”

“It’s _nothing_ , basically, Cal and I just don’t usually disagree,” Amethar admits reluctantly.

“I’m sure this is startling with your rare disagreements, but-”

“No, not ‘rare,’ Cal and I don’t fight. We never have.”

Lazuli’s brow furrows. “What?”

“We don’t fight, we just… get along. I mean, sometimes we want different things for dinner but it never takes long to sort it out. We’ve never argued before,” Amethar explains. When his sister continues to look at him like he has a screw loose, Amethar explains, “We’re in love”

“Amethar,” Lazuli says, gently, the same tone she uses with distressed students at office hours, “Couples disagree all the time. Caramelinda and I were arguing about Jet’s grades and what to do about them last week, you remember. Are we not in love?”

“Well, yes, but that’s,” _different_ , Amethar thinks, but it’s not, not really. If anything, they should be the _example_ for Amethar to follow; Caramelinda and Lazuli have been making this work -- genius researcher and brilliant teacher taking on the world together, a beautiful little family of four working like cogs in a machine -- for longer than Amethar has even known Calroy. Why then, can Amethar not stop thinking _Well, that’s all well and good for them, but not for us, we don’t fight, we don’t bicker, we don’t disagree, we’re perfect_. He brings a hand up to cover his eyes as the lights suddenly seem overbright. “I’m sorry, I just… Can I sit down for a second?”

“Of course,” Lazuli says, pushing him into Rococoa’s desk chair. Amethar sits down heavily and closes his eyes as he breathes. City skyline, bright blue sky, stratus clouds. He lets out a breath so deep that feels like a sigh.

“Calroy said that,” Amethar says, eventually, “When he left, he asked if I ever wondered why we didn’t fight.”

“And?” Lazuli asks, “Did you?”

“No. I just thought of it as a given. I thought we were… _perfect_.”

Lazuli tilts her head to the side, quiet for a moment, then says, “When you don’t disagree on _anything_ , it usually means someone is always ceding. It isn’t your fault, because you don’t make Calroy’s choices for him, but maybe you should start thinking about it.”

Amethar frowns miserably. “Maybe I should”

* * *

_Then:_

Amethar didn’t ask Lazuli to help him with his homework. He’s actually not even sure if this is allowed -- even if Lazuli teaches at a university in Midtown, halfway across the city from Amethar’s school -- but he still lets Lazuli point out his little mistakes before they ruin all his chemistry calculations.

While he’s supposed to be working on a problem, he glances at her and asks, “What if I dropped out?”

It’s something that Amethar has been thinking about a lot lately; he barely likes school and if he dropped out, he wouldn’t have to plan around classes or early starts or late night labs, he’d be able to spend more time doing something that he enjoyed, something he was good at. Lazuli hums, seriously considering. If Amethar had asked Rococoa or Citrina, he would’ve just gotten a scolding and a pep talk; if he’d spoken to Sapphria, she would’ve told him to do it immediately; Lazuli thinks, though, she considers every question like it’s the secret to world peace, like it really matters.

“Are you asking because you _want_ to drop out or because you think you _should_?”

“Huh?”

Lazuli grabs a spare sheet of paper and write _Wants to_ and _Should_ in her big, scribbly scrawl at the top. “Well, there’s quite a difference. When you want something, it pulls at you, and a lot of the time people think you can only have one want, one _purpose_ , but they’re wrong. You can want many things, and you can want them all equally. Are you following me?” Lazuli looks up from her writing and Amethar nods, unsure as he still is. “When you think you should do something, though, it feels bad. _Wants_ bring you joy, _shoulds_ just make you feel bad for perceived faults that may or may not really exist.”

“So… You don’t think I should drop out?”

Lazuli sighs. “I think that it’s none of my business at all. Either you want to drop out, so you should, or you think you should drop out, and maybe you will. Neither path affects me, in the end, and none of this should be my decision.”

Amethar thinks that he’s more confused than he was before he asked. “Laz, I’m not getting this.”

“That’s okay, there was always a possibility that you might not,” Lazuli says. She tugs Amethar into an oddly angled hug, patting his back. “Just remember, your personal wants are no less important than any greater good or family expectations that you think you should be doing things for. If you want to drop out, I’ll support you and even fend Rococoa off,” Lazuli jokes, startling a laugh from Amethar. “But if you don’t want to, I can help you get the resources you need to juggle any amount of your wants, so you can be as successful as you deserve to be. I just want you to be happy, Amethar. That’s all any of us want.”

Amethar pulls her a little closer, buries his face in her shoulder so she can’t see his expression. “I know. Thanks.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR mind control warning for the _now_

_Now:_

Calroy doesn’t respond to Amethar’s text until evening, after Amethar’s worked the rest of the day and when the sun is sinking low in the sky. **I think I’m ready to talk** , he says, as well as sending a location pin that leads to a park and wharf, one that Amethar used to hang out at as a teen but hasn’t thought about in years. When Amethar arrives, it’s dark already and Calroy is there, silhouetted by the harsh yellow of the street lights as he leans against the railing, looking out to the gently lapping river. There’s a grey duffle bag at his feet, one that Amethar has never seen before, and he wonders at its origins as much as he wonders about where Calroy has been for the last day. Amethar approaches slowly, makes his steps heavy enough to be noticed, and Calroy turns his head slightly as he approaches.

“Amethar.”

“Calroy,” Amethar says, though he immediately regrets it. Calroy flinches, the left side of his face drawing up tightly before smoothing, slowly, deliberately. Amethar resists the urge to apologize. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, I did.” Calroy’s eyes close for a moment. “Listen, I overreacted yesterday.”

Amethar can’t hold himself back from insisting, “It wasn’t your fault, Cal, we should’ve talked about it. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Calroy raises an eyebrow. “I never said-”

“But you never _didn’t_ say either,” Amethar cuts in. “I just assumed that you would want to get married because I did, but I was wrong. And I’ve been thinking a lot about why we don’t ever fight, and I talked to my sister, and I’m sorry. I’ve been making you always agree with me and putting too much pressure on you to say yes. But I’m going to stop doing that, Cal, I’m going to be better.”

Amethar waits as Calroy looks at him, face full of shock and something else harder to discern. “That’s a really good self-analysis,” Calroy says, laying a hand across Amethar’s cheek as he smiles, “A very good guess. Not quite right though.”

“What?”

“Sweetheart,” Calroy says, his voice so so soft, “We didn’t fight because you used to listen to me. I told them you would listen to me.”

Amethar tries to ask about that but he’s suddenly aware of the tightness of his muscles, the way that his body fails to respond. Every nerve in him is hyper-attuned to the pressure of Calroy’s hand on his face, his fingertips stretched over his cheekbones and the palm against his beard.

“You were supposed to be harmless. I promised that, in fact. I said ‘Rococoa Rocks is terrifyingly competent, Lazuli’s one of the brightest minds of her time, Citrina has an iron will, Sapphria could outsmart a fox, but Amethar? My Amethar? He doesn’t have the stomach for being in charge, not outside the costume. I can make _sure_ he doesn’t want to be in charge.’” Calroy pauses and sighs, forlorn. Amethar meets Calroy’s disappointed eyes and downturned brows because he has to only. “How _did_ you do it? You shouldn’t have been able to, by any metric it makes no sense.”

Calroy lifts his hand from Amethar’s face and Amethar prepares for a sensation he knows fairly well, the sudden relaxing of all his muscles as Calroy’s power fades, but it doesn’t come. Amethar stays, still as a statue, as Calroy turns back to the view of the river. He slants his glance at Amethar and the corner of his mouth ticks up as horrified realization flits over Amethar.

“You’ve figured it out, hm? You know, you’re brighter than I gave you credit for,” Calroy says. He reaches back up, presses his right index and middle fingers to the space behind Amethar’s ear, following the line of his jaw down to the soft skin of Amethar’s throat. “Brighter, more stubborn, better at running a company… It would have been better if you had just kept being exactly what I imagined.”

 _Calroy, what are you doing?_ Amethar thinks as hard as he can. Calroy winces a bit, frowning.

“You don’t have to yell, I’m obviously connected here,” He scolds, “You’re always _yelling_ , like I can’t already hear every insipid thought that flashes across your brain. I’m a _telepath_ for god’s sake. And I know what you’re thinking, _‘Cal, you can’t do stuff like this, you’re just a weak touch telepath.’_ I get it, I thought so too, but it turns out that I just wasn’t doing it right, before, and it was better for the Org to have a pet telepath with clipped wings than to help me grow. But Augustus, he taught me how to finally _improve_.”

_But why? Why do this?_

“Why _not_? My mother sent me away for a mutation that could barely do _anything_. I’ve been a weak nobody my whole life, and you-” Calroy cuts himself off, shakes his head

 _You were someone to_ me _,_ Amethar thinks desperately.

“Sure, because being your charity case boytoy was so much better.” Calroy snaps. “Whatever, none of it matters now. What matters now is that you couldn’t just _listen_. All you had to do was be bad at your job. You were bad at it for _years_ , but they give you more responsibility and suddenly you’re _trying_ , even when I spend every night telling your sleeping brain to relax? Who could’ve predicted that? How the hell could Augustus have thought that I could’ve-”

Amethar, focusing most of his efforts and attention on trying to find a way out of Calroy’s hold, catches the last part of that and connects it, finally. _Augustus Ciabatta?_

“Who else? RocksCorp may not meddle with The Org but if you’re in security and you want to make money, you have to deal in supers too.” Calroy rolls his eyes as Amethar’s brain runs through the possibilities. “I didn’t tell him about _you_. Not that it would’ve mattered, apparently, with that high horse you’re harboring. Not everyone can be born in a gilded castle, Amethar, some of us have to do things we’re not proud of to get ahead. And it was _so_ easy to drop a little of that elixir Augustus gave me into Rococoa’s tea, almost like it was meant to be. I didn’t know that it would _hurt_ her but do you know what? Even if I had, I probably would’ve done it anyway.”

Amethar’s vision goes dark and red-tinted as anger boils inside him. Calroy threatening him, controlling _him_ is one thing, but Rococoa? She’s _Amethar’s_ , how _dare_ he-

For a moment, just one, Amethar’s arm shifts. Calroy’s eyes flash panicked and he grabs back onto Amethar’s arm, so tightly that it hurts.

“You shouldn’t have been able to do that.” Calroy says, “You’re always doing things you shouldn’t be able to and I don’t- Whatever. That just means I should get to work. Hands out, please.”

Amethar watches as his arms lift, moving in front of him. From the duffle near his feet, Calroy retrieves a set of wrist weights marked with neat ‘15’s and fastens them around Amethar’s arms. He attaches another set to Amethar’s feet and then grabs Amethar’s arm again, pulling him over to a section of dock that has no railing.

“I would say sorry, but something tells me you might not believe me,” Calroy says, an edge to his voice that’s a little like laughter and a little like a sob. His fingers tremble a little as he reaches around Amethar’s neck to unclasp his necklace, to take his stone, and Amethar thinks _You don’t have to do this_.

“Of course you’d say that,” Calroy snorts, though it’s a humorless sound. He throws the stone into the river and Amethar helplessly watches its descent even as every part of his soul misses its warmth and presence. Calroy takes Amethar’s arm again, “Just do me a favor, sweetheart: take a deep breath and let it _all_ out.”

Amethar’s lungs fill and empty of their own accord, even as his mind floods with distress, thoughts so loud that they must be like screaming in Calroy’s mind, but Calroy doesn’t stop. Calroy squeezes Amethar’s arm and says, barely loud enough to hear even as it reverberates in Amethar’s skull, “Now _jump_.”

* * *

_Then:_

“You can’t meditate if you’re holding your breath,” Citrina chides. Amethar gamely lets his breath out, harshly through his mouth, before trying to mimic how he’s seen Citrina breathe during her meditation.

“Better?” He asks, sotto voce. Citrina laughs and Amethar can imagine her shaking his head, even with his eyes closed. “Come on, give me tips.”

Amethar hears the wood creak as Citrina walks around him and puts a hand in the center of his back. “Straighten up,” She says, then, “That’s not necessary for the meditation, but posture is important and you really should think about it more in general. Focus on your breathing, feel it in your lungs.”

Amethar takes a deep breath in and breathes out through his nose. He can feel his lungs move, of course, the expansion of his ribs as air rushes in, but he’s not experiencing any of the peace Citrina talks about. “Is that all?”

“Try clearing your mind,” Citrina offers. Amethar tries to hide his doubt but some must come through because Citrina laughs again and pats his shoulder. Amethar opens one eye to see her sunny smile. She offers, “How about I go get you some water and then we try again?”

Amethar nods and rolls his shoulders as she leaves him. In all the movies, meditation looks so easy -- just sit on a mountain for a couple of minutes and you unlock the secrets of the universe -- but practically, Amethar is in his living room, furniture pushed against the wall, as he tries to figure this thing out, it’s just _boring_.

Amethar closes his eyes again and tries to focus on his breathing but his mind continues to wander, to the cleaning he has to do after this, to the game that’s on tonight and whether he’ll watch it here or if he’ll go to a bar, to the patrol he’s supposed to go on tomorrow morning. _This was supposed to make it easier to hear the stone_ , he thinks, frustrated, sighing and opening his eyes.

 _ **If you wanted to speak to me, you simply had to ask.**_ The stone’s voice rings through his head, flooding Amethar’s senses enough that his teeth almost ache from the ghost sensation of sweetness.

“Of course it’s that easy,” Amethar mutters, then thinks pointedly, _What are you?_

 _ **I am not of your world**_ , the stone says, _**You would not have the words for me.**_

 _What do I have the words for?_ Amethar asks. He shuts his eyes so he can focus better on the voice and he can almost visualize it, himself in a purple haze, confused and being toyed with. _If you know what I know, then find a word that works. Tell me what you_ can _tell me._

_**I am simply here to help you. Helping you helps me, and I care for nothing more than me and mine -- and you are mine, now, little one.** _

_And do you have a name?_ Amethar asks, then corrects himself, _Or something like a name, something I could call you_.

The stone makes a noise that’s almost like a hum, if a hum was rougher and more metallic. _**The term ‘sugar mommy’ seems almost apt.**_

 _I’m not going to call you that_.

 _ **Fine, it makes no difference to me if you throw away a connection freely given**. _The stone says, _**How about this: you’ve been thinking of me as a stone, which suits the vessel I reside in but is incorrect and insufficient. Vessels can change and I am much more than this rock that contains me. No, a better term for me could be… Fairy. Yes, I quite like the implications of that.**_

_Like… A fairy godmother? That’s really what you want me to call you?_

Amethar feels his mouth spread into a wide grin, clearly the Fairy’s doing rather than his own. _**Yes. I am, after all, here to grant your every wish.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mind control: calroy forcibly takes over amethar's body, monologues to him about how he had tried to brainwash amethar into being bad at his job and implies that he had overwritten amethar's own wants before as well, and makes amethar jump into a river


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its the depictions of drowning chapter now! i'm sure you could've guessed, but if you want to skip right on past that, go to _"Where do you think I am?"_

_Now:_

The water, when he hits it, is cold. It snaps his brain out of its stupor and allows him to take one, shallow breath before he’s below the waters. He’s pulled down quickly, even as he fumbles to try and remove the weights at his wrist with clumsy, numb fingers as his lungs ache for oxygen that’s not there. He manages to struggle off one of the weights before his vision starts to fade at the edges, before his chest begins to truly burn with the need to breathe, and he thinks _Well, I had a good run_ before things suddenly start getting- strange.

 _ **What are you doing?**_ The voice booms but keeps its normal saccharine appeal.

 _Fairy?_ Amethar’s eyes dart around best as they can, but he doesn’t see his rock anywhere. _Where are you?_

 _ **Where do you**_ **think _I am? Did I not tell you I was going to make you a king?_** The Fairy asks sharply as Amethar’s vision starts to clear up, _**Did you doubt me? It would have been easier my way, but I made you a vessel just as well from above your heart as I could’ve from inside it.** _

Amethar can feel his body start to move upward, the drag of the weights less pulling now, and his hands, arms, chest all begin to shine violet through the dirty waters of the Sucrosi, so similar to that day so long ago. He continues to pick up speed until he bursts from the depths in a spray of water, continuing until he is several stories in the air. He presses his still glowing hands to his heart, his body curling like a comma around the point where he can sense that familiar warmth, settled inside him.

 _ **I told you the vessel was temporary,**_ the Fairy says, but her voice is softer. _**You are important to me, I would never allow harm to come to you.**_

Amethar takes in gulps of air, so cold and sharp that it stings his throat. He is… Alive, when he hadn’t expected to be, whole and hale as he could hope for, and he feels relief so strongly that tears blur his vision as he stares, barely processing, at the lit city that lingers on the horizon. Calroy is- Well, Amethar isn’t sure what to think about Calroy has betrayed him, Calroy hurt his sister, Calroy tried to kill him. Calroy is gone; he didn’t wait to retrieve a body or to make sure the job was done. Amethar shakes his head- it’s not worth thinking about right now. He needs to get out of here, to go somewhere safe, somewhere Calroy wouldn’t expect. That rules out each of his sisters, no matter how much Amethar wants to sweep them all into his arms and make sure that they're fine.

No, Amethar isn’t sure what’s going on, he can’t connect all the threads, but he knows someone who could help him. He ditches the last three weights back into the river, not wanting them on him even if the weight is easily disregarded, and heads back towards the main bulk of the city, to a Midtown apartment complex he knows well.

When he arrives at Catherine Ghee’s place, the adrenaline is starting to fade, and he knocks on her balcony door with a heavy hand.

Catherine, when she opens the door in a soft blue robe, looks him up and down tiredly. “If you’re going to drip everywhere, could you at least get it in my plants? You look half-drowned.”

“Then my look matches my state,” Amethar says, smiling sheepishly. Catherine tips her head back in exasperation, her loose ombre’d ponytail coming slightly undone with the movement.

“This was supposed to be a _relaxing_ night for me,” She mutters, then gestures him inside. “You are _so_ lucky Saccharina is at a friend’s tonight, she’d never stop asking questions.”

Amethar steps inside and stands, as directed, very still on the vinyl of Catherine’s kitchen, water puddling at his feet, until she returns with two towels and a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt that he’s left here for emergencies. After he dries off and changes, Catherine shoos him to her couch and hands him an over warm cup of chamomile tea.

“I won’t make you tell me everything,” She says, “But if I’m going to let you stay here, you have to explain a _little_.”

“No, no, I can tell you all of it, as much as I understand it, that is.”

Amethar tells Catherine everything, about Rococoa and Pangranos and Calroy, how Augustus Ciabatta was the cause of Rococoa’s mystery sickness, how Calroy had used him, how he’d come to be in the Sucrosi this late into the evening. When he’s done, Catherine has filled several pages of a journal with notes and she sighs, squeezing the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

“When this is all done,” She asks, “I get to write the story, right?”

“ _Catherine_.”

“I’m serious! Amethar, honey, I love you but this would be a helluva story for the Gazette. What’s the point of being your ex if I don’t get benefits? Come on, exclusive interview for your favorite reporter?” She asks. Amethar rolls his eyes -- which he’s sure she knows is as good as a yes, she’s the only reporter he’d trust to tread responsibly around the delicate parts, even if it means losing some of the juicy parts of the story -- and she grins. After a moment, though, her smile fades and she taps the back of her pen against her lips. “I can get you more information, but it’ll take me a bit, especially if I’m going to be discrete.”

Amethar shakes his head, “I appreciate it, but I just needed somewhere to stay and to talk through all of this, so I could connect it in my head. You don’t have to-”

“But I’m _going_ to,” Catherine interrupts. She scowls at Amethar. “I know you like to do it all yourself and that’s certainly _noble_ of you, but what’s your plan here, Amethar? Do you know who you have to go to, who you can trust?”

“I-” Amethar stops, looks away from Catherine’s smugly raised brow. “Fine. You can help, but you have to be safe.”

Catherine snorts. “Yeah, out of the two of us, _I’m_ the one that’s unsafe.”

Amethar flusters a bit but nods, conceding that. “Okay, where do we start.”

“ _I_ start by getting my laptop and putting on a cup of coffee,” Catherine says, standing and stretching, “ _You_ start by going to bed.”

“ _Bed_? I can help too, you don’t have to send me to sleep.”

“This is my house and that means I’m in charge. Bed, now,” Catherine says, pointing threateningly at him with her pen, “You can sleep in ‘Rina’s room, and if I see your face again before the sun comes up, I’ll kick you out, evil founders be damned.”

“Fine,” Amethar says, “Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight, Amethar.”

Amethar walks down the familiar hall to his daughter’s room. It’s difficult, even with the soft covers pulled to his chin and the dim light from the shaded window, to fall asleep at first; every time he closes his eyes, he imagines the rushing of water, the sensation of being pulled down, the true darkness of oxygen deprivation.

 **Calm down,** The Fairy says, eventually, after Amethar has been staring blankly at the speckled ceiling. It’s probably only been minutes but it’s felt like much longer to him. **I take care of what’s mine, and you are as much me as I am you now, my dear king. Rest, and I will protect you.**

Amethar’s eyes flutter closed and this time, the only sensation he imagines is that of being held, marshmallow-soft and safe from all.

[ ](https://twitter.com/ANDROMELITE/status/1351728652166291458?s=19)

* * *

_Then:_

“Are you going to tell me why I’m here now?” Citrina asks as they sit in her car across the street from the Gazette. Amethar has his attention focused on the skyscraper opposite them, the plaza in front of it, scanning the workers entering for a particular person.

“You didn’t have to be here,” He mutters. There’s a man that’s been pacing in front of the building for ten minutes and Amethar wonders if he’s doing the same thing as Amethar is, if less subtly; he can only imagine that people often want to get a hold of a journalist in untraditional ways. When Amethar realizes that Citrina hasn’t responded, he turns to her and meets her raised brow look of _do you want to try that again?_ With a wince. “ _Fine_ , I’m sorry, thank you for giving me a ride, but I _really_ can’t explain right now. I promise I’ll give you the whole story later, but I have to focus- _Shh!_ ”

Amethar throws a hand out, gesturing for quiet despite his sister’s current near silence, as the woman he’s been waiting for walks across the plaza at a rapid clip, messenger bag bouncing against her hip, hair tie between her teeth as she pulls her ombre hair into a high ponytail just like the one she has on her author picture on the Gazette website. Catherine Ghee, reporter for the Gazette, author of Amethar’s potential destruction. “She’s late,” he mutters, looking at his watch.

Citrina’s voice is flat and hard, like a crowbar, “Did you use me to stalk a woman?”

“... No?”

“ _Amethar_ _Malik Rocks_ -”

“Okay, but only a little bit!” Amethar attempts to placate. Citrina narrows her eyes but doesn’t yell anymore, so he continues, “She wrote an article I really liked and I wanted to ask her some questions about it, but I didn’t want to call until I knew she was here.”

“And what will you do if she _doesn’t_ want to talk to you?”

“I’ll understand and back off immediately,” Amethar recites dutifully, despite having no intentions to do so; if he was approaching Catherine Ghee for the reasons his sister assumes he is, he would, of course, but this is bigger than asking some reporter out; this is about Amethar’s safety and privacy.

“Good. Do you want to use my cell or head back to the house-”

“No, no, I’m going to- use my phone. Away from here,” Amethar says. Citrina laughs and shakes her head.

“I wouldn’t make fun of you, Amethar, not even if you got tongue-tied,” She says. The teasing flusters Amethar even though it’s _not_ like that. Amethar _shhs_ her again and leaves the car. She calls out the window, “Call me if you want a ride home when you’re done, alright? Or if you’re not coming home at all-”

“ _Shhhhh_ , you’re so embarrassing, get out of here!” Amethar hisses, hoping that no one’s noticed the scene Citrina is creating. Citrina peels off, still giggling, and Amethar squares his shoulders and finds a nearby alleyway, secure enough and out of the way, to change in. Once he’s suited up, it’s easy to go to the roof of the Gazette and pull out his phone. It rings twice before she answers.

“Catherine Ghee, the Gazette, may I ask who’s calling?” Catherine says, all in a rush like she doesn’t want to be talking at all. Her voice is different than Amethar remembers from when he saved her, lower, smoother, more assertive.

“I’m, uh,” Amethar winces, hating to say it, “You called me _King_. I read the article you wrote and I wanted to talk to you again.”

“Oh!” The background noise changes and when Catherine speaks again, it’s quieter. “I didn’t know superheroes had cell phones. I would’ve given you my number!”

Amethar blushes, thanking the gods for a not face-to-face medium. “I wouldn’t have taken it. I was on the job.”

“And now? Are you on the job now?”

“Ah, well-” Amethar falters. He’s not, technically, on Org business. “No?”

“You sound a little unsure, honey,” Catherine says, voice lilting a little meanly. “Listen, how about _I_ send you my personal number and we can talk later. I have a big scoop to research today and I can’t let myself be distracted, even by dashing superheroes.”

“But I’m here now, why would I wait until later?”

“Because you’re calling me from a personal phone number and I, incidentally, work in the best place to reverse search a Yellowbook in the city,” She says. Amethar slaps a hand to his forehead, feeling unfathomably outpaced. “I don’t think I’ll have to do that, though. I think we can figure something out that benefits both of us, just… after hours. I’m sure you’ve got a double life you should be getting to right now, anyway.”

He doesn’t, not really, but what choice does he have? Amethar takes Catherine’s cellphone number down and promises to call her after work hours, and slumps down. He feels foolish, like a child playing dress-up. He feels like he’s underestimated Catherine Ghee yet again.


	8. Chapter 8

_Now:_

Amethar wakes to the smell of eggs and the sound of a car failing to start in the street below him. For a moment, he thinks it’s a normal day and he’s at home, until he tries to roll over and nearly falls off Saccharina’s -- much smaller than his -- mattress. He catches himself before he goes over, rolling into midair as whatever reflexes rule his flight activate, but it still wakes him the rest of the way up. He can hear the muffled clang of dishes and the soft sounds of conversation coming from beyond the door. He puts his feet to the ground and walks out to find Catherine at the stove while Saccharina sits on a counter and kicks her legs.

“I thought you were at a friend’s?” Amethar asks. Saccharina’s eyes dart over to him and she grins, flipping her hair from her face.

“Dad!” She cries, hopping off the counter to hug him. Amethar remembers when she was first born, how she’d been smaller than his forearm with a head just bigger than his palm, but, now that she’s pushing on 17, she’s within half a foot of Amethar’s height. “I had conditioning at like _five_ and mom texted me last night, so I had Gooey drop me here afterward.”

“Well, it’s good to see you,” Amethar says. He tries to scrub a hand over her head and she dodges easily, dancing away from his grip and around Catherine, who is bringing the eggs and toast to the table.

“And I, of course, am chopped liver,” Catherine says. Saccharina shares an exaggerated look of exasperation with Amethar.

“I see _you_ all the time, dad is a treat,” Saccharina says, but she still presses a kiss to her mother’s cheek before she sits down. Over her head, Amethar raises an eyebrow at Catherine and she gestures discretely to Saccharina. Her presence wasn’t planned, Amethar remembers, and prepares himself to wait until Saccharina is well and truly engaged elsewhere.

He focuses on enjoying the breakfast, even as his anticipation rackets up, knowing that he’s this close to getting information. It’s nice; he gets Saccharina for a week a month -- at least, more often if Catherine has to travel or is working on a particularly involved story -- and he had been looking forward to it, of course, but Amethar’s just realizing that it’s been almost a full month since he last saw his ex and daughter, something abnormal. Usually, he’ll grab lunch with Catherine or come over to try to help Saccharina with her homework, but he hasn’t thought of any of that recently. Before, Amethar would’ve attributed the lapse to the stress of his job and of Rococoa’s illness, but now… _Now, who knows if I didn’t think about them because Calroy didn’t want me to_. Amethar controls his frown before either of the girls can notice but his mood is still soured and he pushes his eggs around, unable to stomach another bite, until Saccharina excuses herself from the table to call one of her friends.

As soon as Saccharina’s door closes behind her, Catherine, resting her elbows on the table and lacing her fingers together, says, “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

“Good news.”

“You’re alive! Congratulations!” Catherine says. At Amethar’s look, her face turns more serious, “Not joking, it’s incredibly useful that you’re alive, and not just for my journalism career. You being here can sort out almost all the bad news.”

Amethar sighs. “Bad news, then?”

“Pangranos is going to try and take advantage of your disappearance. This seems to be what they do; buy out companies or, if they won’t take Pangranos’ offer, make the current owners look incompetent or unreliable until the directors and shareholders are _begging_ Pangranos to take it off their hands. I don’t quite have a dossier together, but I have enough evidence and witnesses that it could hold up in court, especially with your help.”

“And I can help just by being alive?”

“Always,” Catherine says with a wink, “ _And_ by figuring out when they’re going to act. If Pangranos thinks you’re dead, they’ll probably try and take over in the next few days, but I’m not sure when-”

Amethar pales. “What time is it? Where’s my phone- _Oh my god, my phone_ ,” He says, remembering what it’s been through. “Is it-?”

“Oh, that thing’s bricked. I put it in rice when I threw the rest of your clothes into the dryer but I think you’d have better luck just getting a new one. What’s so important?”

“Ciabatta is meeting with the directors _today_ , that’s why he had Cal- Cal _roy_ act last night. I don’t remember what time the meeting is but,” Amethar stops his explanation, barking a disbelieving laugh and pressing a hand to his eyes. “It’s all about the company. My boyfriend tried to _drown me_ so some asshole could _steal_ my _parent’s company_. This is ridiculous.”

Catherine, to her credit, passes him the box of tissues from her counter without comment, pretending not to notice Amethar wiping his eyes. She hums affirmatively and looks at him with a tilted head and a raised brow. “Well? What are you gonna do about it?”

Amethar takes a centering breath. In, out, _**Visualize your city, you will protect it**_. “I’m going to borrow your laptop to check my email,” He says, “And then I’m going to save my fucking company.”

Amethar’s email is filled with _URGENT_ and _RE: RE: RE: URGENT_ emails, which isn’t a great sign. Amethar clicks on the calendar section and sees, in either a great turn of luck or an awful one, that Ciabatta’s meeting is scheduled to start in less than fifteen minutes.

“That’s not enough time,” Catherine says, “You have to go home and get your car, not to mention changing, and there’s no way you can get across the city that fast.”

“... There is one way,” Amethar counters, pressing a hand to his ribs.

“What- _No_. Amethar Rocks, think for a second, you can’t go to a meeting like-”

“Why can’t I? If I leave from here in the next,” Amethar glances at the computer’s clock and winces, “Five minutes, I’ll make it. They’ll have started already, but I’ll make it.”

“You look like you just rolled out of bed,” Catherine argues.

“And they think I’m dead.” Amethar says bluntly. He feels bad when Catherine’s face twitches at the reminder and continues, softer, “I think I have a polo shirt here, and with yesterday’s jeans-”

“Fine!” Catherine waves her hands dismissively. “Better than nothing. I’ll get your shirt, you know where the dryer is, right?”

“I do, and- Would you mind doing something else for me?”

Catherine pauses from where she’s begun to head off, looks at Amethar with narrowed eyes. “I don’t think I trust that tone of voice, but you have to know that I’d do anything to help right now. What’s the favor?”

“The information you gathered, I know you wanted to break the story professionally but-”

“ _Ugh_ , I think I know what you want-”

“If you could publish it, somewhere that’ll get a lot of reach, and _then_ I promise I’ll get you a Rocks exclusive on this particular instance as _soon_ as we get this sorted out.”

Catherine groans again but nods, shooting a “You better make this worth it, Rocks,” over her shoulder. Amethar shakes his head at her for a moment before his eye catches the laptop clock again and he rushes out of the room to dress. He’s ready, with barely enough time to spare, but before he can leave from the balcony again, Catherine shoves a small strip of fabric into his hands.

“What’s this?”

“A mask. It’s one of your old ones, you left it here once and I kept it,” Catherine says, eyes focused intently on the wall over Amethar’s shoulder as Amethar runs his fingers over the faded leather. “But if you’re going to be flying around like a dumbass, you should have _something_ protecting your identity.”

Amethar smiles and pulls Catherine into a quick hug. “Thank you,” He says, and then steps back to open the balcony doors, “But I’ve _really_ got to go. I’ll see you later!”

“You _better_!” Catherine yells after him.

He doesn’t have a plan, beyond _Save your company_ , but Amethar isn’t sure if it matters; his presence should be enough to throw Ciabatta off his game and protect RocksCorp, and Catherine’s part should do the rest. Still, he feels a weird restlessness under his skin, unsettled from the lack of concrete direction. The drive from Catherine’s place, at this time of the morning, would’ve taken thirty minutes with traffic but in the sky, Amethar makes the trip in ten. He tries to stay in cloud cover as he scans the RocksCorp tower for where the meeting could be taking place. His original intention had been to land on the roof, to lose his mask somewhere private, but when he lays eyes on Ciabatta, at the front of a conference room and talking to Licorina who looks close to tears, he can barely control himself. Something, deep inside him, hisses _Mine_ and, before he knows it, he’s gone through the window of the room and landed between Ciabatta and his secretary.

There’s a general cacophony of chaos, as directors shy away from glass -- he’d gone through a window no one was near, thank god, but he’ll have to have it taped off later -- and as everyone tries to figure out what’s going on, and Amethar takes the time to grimace at his impulsiveness. _I’m blaming that on you_ , He thinks sternly to the Fairy. She, of course, hums in contentment. _**You can do whatever makes you feel best, little one.**_

“Sorry that I’m late,” Amethar says when people quiet down, removing his mask to gasps, “You wouldn’t believe the traffic.”

Amethar gets to watch, up close and personal, Ciabatta’s face flicker with disbelief and fear before settling on anger. “This is preposterous,” He says, “ _Flying_ in here, late, you can’t start to believe-”

“I wouldn’t have been late if you hadn’t tried to kill me.” Amethar cuts in, his voice like an ice pick. Ciabatta’s face turns redder with rage.

“I have done _no such thing_.”

“You did, but if your dear board of directors doesn’t want to take my word for it, there’ll be a report released today with evidence of this and all sorts of other wrong-doings,” Amethar says. “It’s over.”

While Ciabatta splutters, the door behind Amethar opens and Amethar is only half turned to it when he recognizes the shade of pink, the way that Calroy holds himself as he enters the room, texting and holding a coffee with Ciabatta’s name on it. When Calroy looks up and meets Amethar’s eye, he drops everything from his hands, the coffee splattering on the ground and all up his nice slacks.

“Amethar?” He asks, his voice wavering. He looks- normal, mostly, until Amethar looks closer, to the creases in his dress shirt and at the thick makeup under his eyes. “You’re-”

“Alive,” Amethar finishes. “You tried to drown me, but I’m alive.”

“I didn’t-” Calroy starts, then shakes his head, “I suppose it’s no use, right? I did. I did mean to and I did think it would work. But that doesn’t mean I _wanted_ to.”

Amethar looks away from Calroy. “If you really didn’t want to, you wouldn’t have,” He says. Amethar turns back to the gathered directors, watching all this with wide, shocked eyes. “Sorry, again. As you can see, we have quite a few things to talk about. But first: could one of you call security? I don’t have a phone anymore.”

“I’ve got it, Mister Rocks,” Licorina says, sounding delighted and a little starstruck, at the same time that Ciabatta hisses, “No need to bother, I’ll be leaving now. We’ll see you in court.”

Ciabatta stalks out and, after a minute, Calroy follows him silently. Amethar closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and says, “Okay. I’ll answer any questions you have, but I would _really_ appreciate it if you could focus on the company.”

Predictably, not a single question is about RocksCorp. But Amethar thinks he can deal with it.

* * *

_Then (that is, three months later):_

Rococoa hits Amethar with a dish towel when he wanders too close to the grill.

“I’m _fine_ ,” She says, “I don’t need water, I don’t need a chair, I don’t need you to take over. I swear to all that is good, I don’t care if you can pick up a semi-truck, if you come over here again, I’m going to figure out your weakness and sell it to the highest bidder.”

“Fine, fine!” Amethar says, browbeat. He’ll try again in thirty minutes. Rococoa’s been cleared, an antidote found and body cleared of poison, for months now, but that doesn’t mean he can’t _worry_. He leaves her for now and goes back towards the part of the backyard where his nieces and daughter are sitting on blankets, texting and occasionally showing each other their phones.

Caramelinda and Lazuli are watching them, baffled, and Amethar joins them.

“Is this what the kids at school do?” He asks. Lazuli hums.

“I don’t interact with students much outside of structured times, but they do keep to themselves in similar ways before class begins. The girls are closer to your age group, Cara, do your kids act like this?”

Caramelinda takes a sip of her margarita. “Phones aren’t allowed in classrooms so I’ve never seen it, but maybe next year. I imagine vice-principals see more students doing ‘teen’ behavior than I would’ve before.”

Lazuli beams at her wife at the reminder of Caramelinda’s new promotion and leans in for a kiss. Amethar rolls his eyes at their affection, even if it _is_ sweet, and looks around for someone else to talk to, spotting Citrina over at the grill now, successfully terrorizing Rococoa into taking a seat for a second. She catches his eye and smiles, nodding a _Mission success!_ to him that he happily returns. He’s so focused on his sisters that he almost doesn’t notice Catherine coming up beside him, bumping the side of her arm against his.

“Seems like the weather’s going to hold up,” She says. Amethar raises an eyebrow.

“Is that your way of asking me to go up and make sure the weather stays nice?”

Catherine grins, caught out, “You _said_ you could, I’m just saying that if _I_ had the ability to assure my family picnic went well-”

“It’s going to,” Amethar cuts in. “It’s already going great.”

Catherine flushes, just around the ears, but anything she intends to say is drowned out by the back door swinging open, slamming against the wall as it does.

“You guys would not _believe_ why I got held up,” Sapphria says as she walks out, talking over Rococoa, who is already yelling about slamming her doors. She turns her head slightly and Amethar winces as the giant shiner over her left eye comes into view. Citrina rushes over and starts to fuss, ignoring Sapphria’s, “I’m _fine_ , you should see the other girl. _Seriously_ , you should see her, she was _something_ , ‘Trina-”

Amethar throws his head back and laughs. Deep in his chest, something warm and sweet settles happily. He is surrounded by family and everything is alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and everyone lives Happily Ever After The End :heart: (calroy goes to court ordered therapy also. this isnt necessary for any of you to know but i want you to know anyway)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so so much for reading. I cannot describe how happy I am to have this out in public and I'm just. so happy you've read. thank you. 
> 
> [Main Tumblr (pldubrahs)](http://www.pldubrahs.tumblr.com) | [Writing Tumblr (nacreousglowclouds)](http://nacreousglowclouds.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter (@squidias)](http://twitter.com/squidias)


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